


Three Days and a Tomorrow

by pen_and_umbra



Category: Gentleman Jack (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ann has a major crush, Ann is a cunning stalker, Ann is a thirsty minx, Anne is a sabre fencer woot, Anne wears a lot of fabulous suits, Eventual Smut, F/F, Romance, Schmoopy Romance, Slow Burn, Strap-Ons, omg so much smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-14 13:49:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21016790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pen_and_umbra/pseuds/pen_and_umbra
Summary: ”Their first encounter was arranged by outsiders. The second was serendipitous, and as fleeting as it was fateful.Their third meeting, however, was completely by artifice.”Modern AU. Ann Walker has a carefree life in Paris. Anne Lister is a rebel among venture capitalists. Ann has been succesfully ignoring her crush on Anne for ten years, until she can’t ignore it any more.





	1. The Second, and the First

**Author's Note:**

> This story is complete and done. I will post chapters as I edit them, hopefully every day or so.
> 
> I have fudged some real-life details and dates, for the sake of better narrative. Laws of physics remain as they are, however.

Their first encounter was arranged by outsiders. The second was serendipitous, and as fleeting as it was fateful. 

Their third meeting, however, was completely by Ann Walker’s artifice.

* * *

That second, coincidental encounter took place on a Saturday afternoon in March. It was a lead grey day in Paris, the clouds undecided on rain since the morning.

Ann Walker glanced at the sky as she exited the gym by Halle Georges Carpentier at the south end of the 13th arrondissement. She pulled the hood of her jacket over her blonde curls and glanced at the large, ugly bulk of the main arena. It started to drizzle. 

“Mmm. Coffee,” Ann muttered to herself and started towards the cafe located in the arena.

When Ann pushed the arena door open and went in, the noise that greeted her was unusual. While the arena usually hosted basketball or volleyball events, the current cacophony of sounds did not seem to fit those: there was the sound of sport shoes on metal, steel clashing, and machinery beeping loudly. The arena stands hid the floor from view so Ann made a beeline for the cafe first. 

A large latte in hand, she peeked through the main doorway to the arena floor. 

“Well I’ll be damned.”

It was a fencing competition. A dozen long metal strips had been laid on the parquet and on them, fencers in their all-white uniforms and faceless masks were battling each other. 

Now intrigued, Anne moved closer to the action. The atmosphere was adversarial and smelled faintly of sweat. Referees in black suits were shouting commands in French, loudly, to be heard over the din of metal on metal. Fencers between bouts were sprawled out on the arena seats between their gear bags, either wiping their faces or chatting with each other. 

At the end of the stands, a large display was scrolling through… the schedule? Or perhaps results? _ Circuit National Vétérans 1, Paris, _said the heading, and then there was a long list of names. Sipping her coffee, Ann glanced through the names with idle curiosity. Many were French, one obviously Dutch, and there were a handful clearly English names. 

And then all of a sudden, on the screen was a name that was startlingly, achingly familiar to her.

_ LISTER Anne (GBR) _

A frisson ran through Ann and she almost dropped her coffee; her fingers suddenly felt numb. She rushed closer to the screen but the name had already scrolled away. Impatiently, her heart hammering in her chest, Ann looked around and then back at the display, willing it to scroll faster. And then the name was back.

_ LISTER Anne (GBR) - ROUSSELOT Florence (FRA) - Piste 4 - 16:40 _

Ann set her coffee down on the floor and dug out her cell phone from her bag, her hands shaking. 

4:42 pm.

But what the hell was “piste 4”? Looking around frantically, Ann finally saw the large paper numbers taped next to the complicated score display apparatuses at each area. Area - or “piste” in French, it seemed - number four was at the back of the arena. 

Completely forgetting her coffee and her bag on the floor next to it, Ann hurried around the perimeter of the arena floor until she saw piste two and behind it, four. On it, two tall figures in white and grey were rushing at each other, swords quivering in their hands. The fencer on the left wore a mask with the Union Jack as its face and, curiously, black knee-high socks when everyone else’s were white. On the back of her silver-grey top in large, worn letters read “LISTER GBR”. The letters were partially covered by a long dark ponytail. 

Ann gripped her phone in her suddenly sweaty hands. It was _ her _. It had to be. 

The fencer on the left made contact with her sabre and the apparatus light flashed red. Ann heard her make a brief, sharp growl of joy and they retreated to starting positions. The scoreboard read 6-2. The left fencer made a theatrical flourish with her sword, adjusted her mask with her free hand, and flexed her shoulders back. The referee shouted “Allez!” and they were off again.

As Ann watched the fencers rush at each other, her thoughts went back ten years and to the day when she had first met Anne Lister. 

* * *

Their first encounter was on a day she easily remembered, for it was exactly a week after she had buried her parents. She had been all of 19 years old, an aimless first-year student at York, and now also an orphan. The week had been a cavalcade of relatives, friends, business acquaintances, and complete strangers at her doorstep, all expressing their commiserations in ways she found increasingly intolerable. Except for Anne Lister’s.

That day, Ann had been holed in the back garden of her parents’ estate in Halifax, not exactly hiding but far enough that she could not hear the doorbell if it rang. It was the height of Yorkshire summer and she had been sweating in her jeans, her eyes dry because she had no more tears to cry. Her Aunt Eliza had come over, said there was someone to see her and, not pausing to hear Ann’s objections, introduced her to Anne Lister.

The name had, of course, been familiar to her - as much as it was to everyone in Halifax. Valiant Ltd. was the startup darling of the medtech sector, promising to revolutionise artificial intelligence in prosthetics; Anne Lister, a Halifax local, was the founder and CEO. Ann’s family had been an early investor in Valiant but Ann had always found the family business dreadfully boring so she had paid little attention to it all. And yet, here was the woman who had been on the cover of _ Wired _ the previous month, in the flesh. 

With a few words and a smile, Anne Lister had sent Aunt Eliza back to the house and then she had sat in the lawn chair next to Ann.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Anne had said. “I knew your parents well. On a day like this, I think your father would strongly recommend judicious day drinking.”

Ann had just stared. Anne Lister had worn all black, a suit of glossy broadcloth over a black dress shirt; when she had taken her sunglasses off, her eyes had been like polished obsidian in the bright sunshine. But her smile had been kind and mischievous, and her hand warm where she had touched Ann’s arm. 

Ann well remembered how she had felt hot and cold then - felt _ something _ besides the wretched emptiness of the past week. 

With ‘day drinking’_ , _ her guest had meant an entire bottle of champagne. And they had talked, of everything except death and sorrow, and Ann had taken Anne on a tour of the gardens, feeling light-headed and giddy after three glasses of Laurent-Perrier. There had been a sharp edge, a perfume scent, to Anne’s presence that Ann had tasted on her tongue and felt prickling on her skin at the small of her back. It had felt strange and new and-

* * *

Ann snapped back to the present day when the arena loudspeaker blared nearly incomprehensible words. She re-focused back on piste four where the score was 9-4 and the fencers once again rushed at each other, sabres slicing the air with a whistle. After a second of feint and parry, the light flashed again red and the fencer on the left took her mask off with a whoop of joy.

It was _ her. _Ann’s heart skipped a beat.

Anne Lister’s smile was all white, sharp teeth as she shoved her mask under her arm and saluted her opponent. Arms spread wide, she shouted at her teammates at the end of the piste and rushed over to them, every step full of vigor and bounce. She got many hugs and congratulatory pats on the back. 

Ann watched all of this, unseen, from the edge of the arena. That unforgettable smile, even at this distance, sent a shiver of memory down her spine. When Anne undid her high collars and partially unzipped her jacket, Ann’s eye was drawn to the long length of neck it exposed. Strands of dark hair had escaped her low ponytail and clung to Anne’s neck, wet from perspiration. 

Ann leaned back against the floor to ceiling windows behind her. She was numb and excited at the same time. 

Anne fucking Lister. 

Here in Paris. 

Right fucking _ now. _

As Ann watched, Anne walked to the stands on the far side, still chatting with her teammates. She unzipped her silver top completely and took it off, followed by a white jacket, a strange half-shirt, and then a breastplate. Underneath, she was wearing a black tank top and her bare arms gleamed with perspiration. Thin black streaks of a tattoo marred her forearms, most visible when she drank from her water bottle. And then she put her bottle down and yanked her tank top off with a casual, one-handed pull. 

Ann felt faint; she had been holding her breath. She sat down at the window, both because she felt like her knees were about to give out, and because she desperately wanted Anne not to see her. That would be… too much.

”Get a grip, Ann,” she told herself. It didn’t help at all.

Ann saw Anne dig out another black tank top from her equipment bag and pull it on; her sports bra had been, of course, also black. Anne tucked the top into her high-waisted white breeches and then re-dressed in the various pieces of the uniform, ending with a glove on her right hand. 

Ann’s phone rang. 

_ Liz, _the display read. Ann swiped to answer.

”What?”

”Well hello, Ann. I’m good, how are you?”

”Ha ha,” Ann said but with a smile. Hearing her sister’s voice never failed to cheer her up. ”What’s up?”

”Just calling you to remind that we have a dinner date today at six o’clock. Because I know how you are with calendars.”

_ Shit. _She had completely forgotten. Ann glanced at her phone clock. 4:55 pm. 

”Of course I haven’t forgotten! I’ll see you at six.”

”Great! I’m dying to get out of the house and have an adult conversation with someone.”

”As long as we don’t talk about cloth diapering again, I’m there for you.”

Elizabeth laughed. ”See you soon. Bye.”

Ann put her phone down and searched for Anne again. After a moment of panic, she spotted the distinctive black socks again at the end of a different piste. Anne was attaching a cord to a plug that hung at her waist; when done, she picked up her mask and did casual figure-eights with her sabre tip. 

It’s now or never. If Ann were to talk to her today, this was her last chance. She stood up, took five steps to Anne’s direction, and then faltered. Anne had put on her mask and stood facing her opponent, posture ramrod straight and her sword held upright. The moment was gone. 

_ Fuck. Fucking fuck, _Ann swore silently and glanced again at her phone. Almost five. She had to hustle to the Metro in order to get back home and change so that she could meet her sister at Les Canailles in time. 

Feeling both annoyed with herself for her cowardice and relief for not having to face Anne Lister so spontaneously and with her hair a disaster, Ann snatched her bag and rushed out of the arena towards the Porte D’Ivry station. She did not look back, though she desperately wanted to.

As she raced down the urine-streaked steps of the Metro station, Ann smiled to herself. She felt giddy. _ Anne goddamn Lister. In Paris. _ Once seated on the number 7 train, she dug out her phone and took a deep breath. 

”Hey Siri, google Anne Lister.”


	2. The Artifice

The fish of the day at Les Canailles, their Pigalle neighbourhood hangout of choice, was sole meunière. Ann ate it on autopilot, not tasting it - half of her brain was on what her sister was saying, the other half firmly on the image of a sweaty Anne Lister in a black tank top, now indelibly imprinted on her mind.

”...and I’m so glad Sackville got a place in the crèche across the street. With three little ones in the house, I’m going stir-crazy at times. Ann, are you listening to me?”

Ann started and focused on Elizabeth again. ”Sorry. Yes. Do they have special programs?”

Elizabeth frowned and set her fork on her plate. ”Yes. Music and English, from three and up. What’s on your mind?”

”Nothing!”

”Ann.”

Ann took her wine glass, drained it, and sat back. ”Do you remember... Anne Lister? From Halifax?”

Elizabeth blinked, clearly surprised at this non sequitur. ”Anne Lister? Of course, who could forget her! What an extraordinary woman. But why on earth do you ask?”

”It’s been almost ten years now, since…” Ann trailed off. She did not need to tell Elizabeth what she was talking about; the clear flash of pain in her sister’s eyes was enough. ”Sometime after the… the funeral, she came to the house. Just out of the blue. Aunt Eliza invited her, I think they were long-time friends or something.”

”Oh yes, I remember! You wouldn’t shut up about her for days,” Elizabeth said, smiling again, and signalled the waiter. ”It was like you had met a rock star or something. It was very cute, and I was so thankful. You had been so quiet and distant since the funeral, it was good to see you get excited about something again.”

The waiter cleaned their dishes away and offered dessert menus. Pears and pralines ordered, Ann leaned her forearms on the table and focused her eyes on her reflection in the mirror on the back wall of the restaurant. 

She wanted to tell Elizabeth that she had seen Anne Lister, but hesitated; there was something embarrassing about her teenage crush on someone who she had spoken with a total of four hours. Heck, her sister still did not know she was gay, though Anne thought Elizabeth suspected. Or thought her asexual, maybe. These were the things they did not talk about, for some reason. 

”I don’t actually know what Anne Lister is doing these days. She’s not been on magazine covers lately, I think. Curious. What brought her to your mind today?”

Anne’s pears arrived and she dug right in, dodging the question. ”Are you going home this summer? For the… because it’s now been ten years?”

”Oh,” Elizabeth sighed. ”I’d want to go, but Evan will be only nine months old then. So I’ll have to see.”

Ann took her sister’s hand on the table, warmth in her heart. ”Whatever you decide, it’s alright. It’s still months away.”

* * *

When Ann got back to her flat, she tossed her bag and keys to the foyer table, kicked off her trainers, and went straight to the sofa and the laptop she had left there. She did not even take her coat off.

During her earlier Metro ride from Porte D’Ivry, Ann had googled all about Anne Lister. Once home, she’d continued on her laptop and had left eleven tabs open, unread, when she’d had to leave to meet Elizabeth.

Ann got reading, fingers feverish on the trackpad. LinkedIn turned out to be useless, apart from revealing that Anne Lister had a PhD in biophysics from Cambridge. Facebook yielded nothing, so Ann pieced together what she could from news articles, stock exchange notifications, and  _ Fast Company _ fluff pieces. 

Anne Lister’s professional story was quite something else. Valiant Ltd. had grown across the globe, straddling both AI and medtech trends with alacrity. After several years of growth, the company had been sold for an undisclosed sum of money to Google. After that, Anne had dabbled with a few other startups before setting up her angel investment company two years ago.

”Brazen Ventures Ltd., huh? How fitting is that.”

Ann glanced towards the windows and blinked. Her eyes had gone dry from staring at the screen. The Parisian evening outside her window was a hazy grey, white and red car lights flickering wanly against the white buildings across the street. 

Ann leaned back against the sofa and stretched her arms above her head. The tall ceiling seemed very far away, in deep shadow, and she eyed the plaster decorations and corniches without much curiosity - they were so familiar to her. 

This was her family’s  _ pied-à-terre _ in Paris that she and her sister had inherited at their parents’ death; she had spent many family holidays here as a child. And now, with her sister married to Donald and them living in his embassy flat nearby in Rochechouart, this was her place.  _ Quite something for an art major, _ she always said to visitors, embarrassed at her family’s overt wealth. 

_ Oh Ann, why are you doing this to yourself? _

The words in her head sounded like her mother, or perhaps her sister. Or Aunt Eliza, or one of the many other well-meaning, nosy relatives she had run away from all the way to Paris. And now they were back in her head.

That sunny afternoon with Anne in her parents’ back garden, with champagne and an unnamed storm churning in her stomach, had certainly been the final push for Ann to admit to herself that she was not straight. But why was she still so hung up on this memory, after the heartbreak of her Uni girlfriends and years of growing up and so many bad one-night stands? For ten years, she had ignored the jolts of excitement she had felt every time she had caught a glimpse of Anne Lister, in a magazine or on TV. Why was she now so obsessed with her again?

_ Because she’s a rock star. Unattainable, which makes her a safe crush. _

_ Except that now, she is right fucking here, in Paris.  _

Exhaling in frustration, Ann took her laptop and went to the kitchen. She flipped the kettle on and as she waited for the water to boil, she sat down at the large kitchen island and finally took off her coat.

Unlike Facebook, Instagram was full of Anne Lister. Her account was empty, but she was tagged in numerous photos. Ann scrolled through, quickly dismissing conference photos and the inspirational venture capital promo bullshit shots, but lingered on the ones where Anne was at a movie premiere or a new money party. There was almost always a different woman at her arm; they were all very attractive, with ample cleavage and expensive designer dresses. In recent months, the location tags in the photos had moved from London to Paris.

“Well, now,” Ann muttered to herself, intrigued. She poured herself a cup of rooibos tea and googled Brazen Ventures.

The company’s website was minimalist and short on actual information, but Ann did manage to discover they had addresses both in London Docklands and in La Défense in Paris. More scrolling revealed headshots of the partners and Anne’s picture made Ann tense: she looked stunning in black and white. She scrolled on hastily and found the Events section. Reading through, she stopped on one event and her heart skipped a beat. 

_ Holy fuck. _

She put her teacup down too hard on the marble tabletop and rushed to the foyer. Searching through her bag, she dug out her phone and dialled.

“Ann?”

“Cath! How are you?” Ann frowned suddenly. “Sorry, what time is it? Am I calling too late?”

Catherine Rawson laughed. “What are you on, Ann? And no, it’s only nine here in Blighty. I am in my jammies, though, but you probably don’t care.”

“Oh good. Hey, so. You’re still the events person for us, right? I mean, for the trust? Does that also cover events abroad?”

“Yes, hold on, let me get a pen. Okay. What do you need?” Catherine asked, her voice calm. 

“There’s an event here in Paris, Venture Capital Forum, next week. The registration is already closed but do you think you could score me an exec pass or something?”

“Sure, let me see what I can do. Should be doable, considering you’re a trustee. I’ll call up some people first thing Monday morning. That OK?”

“Yes! Thank you, Cath. I owe you one.”

“I think you owe me several, Ann,” Catherine said and laughed. “Preferably bottles of Pernod or some of those saucy French men, if you’re taking requests.”

“I’ll fax over Jacques from next door. He’s only sixty-five but plays a mean game of pinochle.”

“Oh good, thanks. So, Ann. How are you? We haven’t talked in a while.”

“Oh, I’m… okay. Enjoying the classes. Learning a lot of things about French impressionists that I didn’t know before.”

Catherine made a throaty sound that the phone line distorted to static. “No saucy Frenchmen in your life, then?”

“Well, Degas was quite scandalous but he’s dead. I think all the live ones are seriously turned off by my Yorkie French accent,“ Ann laughed, sounding almost genuine to her own ears. Moving swiftly on, she said, “I’ll be in Halifax this summer and maybe Elizabeth, too. For the… for the remembrance. Will you come, too?”

Catherine was immediately somber. “Oh, of course. I know Delia is making the practical arrangements, has she been in touch with you yet?”

“No, but there’s time. Anyway, classes end in June and I don’t have much planned for the summer.”

“How about autumn? Going to stay in Paris or are you coming back home? I miss having you here, y’know. London isn’t the same without you.”

“I miss you, too, Catherine.” Ann paused, hedging her options on how much to say to Catherine. In the end, she chickened out because she did not want to explain why she wanted the distance. “I haven’t decided about next semester yet. We’ll see.”

“Well, I was going to pop over during Easter for a Boulevard Haussmann crawl, if that’s OK with you? If I can stay at your place? I’m all out of shoes.”

“Of course, Cath! I’d love that. And I will not in a million years believe that you’re out of shoes.”

Several pleasantries later, Ann could finally hang up on Catherine. Her skin prickled with excitement; she felt equal measures foolish and brave. She was going to the Venture Capital Forum, Catherine was sure to come through with a ticket. And Anne Lister was giving a keynote speech on medtech VC trends in Europe there. 

In four days.

_ What the hell am I doing? And more importantly, what the hell am I going to wear? _


	3. Only in Paris

Ann decided that Sunday was gym day. The gym was an awkward Metro ride away but close to Paris Diderot University where she was doing her random smattering of art history grad classes. Before heading to the gym building, she peeked into the arena next door again, but to her disappointment, Sunday was men’s fencing only. Frustrated and feeling vaguely stalkerish, she took gym extra hard, burning off a lot of her nervous energy.

Monday through Wednesday was classes for Ann, in which she spent most of her time zoning out and doing some light googling on Anne Lister. Not much new could be found apart from several pictures on the British Fencing official website - Anne was in several group pictures, often holding a medal or two. It turned out she was the reigning UK champion in sabre, in women veterans’ O40 age group.

_ Veterans. Ha! _

In the evenings, Ann went through her closets, trying to figure out what to wear to the Forum. She wanted to strike the perfect balance between casual and stylish, as if she’d made the effort to dress up but had managed elegance quite accidentally. It was harder than she had imagined, and she had an acute panic about shoes at one point on Tuesday.

By Wednesday evening, she had narrowed her choices down to five outfits and to clear her head, she went out for a run. After ten back-and-forths along Boulevard de Clichy, she felt sufficiently exhausted and came home. She made herself a sandwich and took a Perrier from the fridge, and sat at the kitchen island with her laptop again. Back to Instagram stalking.

During her umpteenth scroll through Instagram, Ann noticed a new pattern. Amidst the various young bombshells on Anne’s arm, there was one constant presence: a handsome woman of similar age, dark curly hair, and always a really fabulous shade of red lipstick on her. She was in pictures as far back as Ann could scroll, a couple times of year at least, on and off. But who was she? Surely not Anne’s girlfriend? Or… wife?

A frustrating half an hour of reverse image searches later, Ann had a name. Mariana Lawton, QC. Married to Charles Lawton, no children. 

Ann frowned. 

So she was not Anne’s… anything. Yet, there was obvious casual intimacy and closeness in all the pictures she was in with Anne. How strange. 

Ann slept fitfully that night and woke up so late that she just decided to skip her classes for the day. She spent a couple of frustrating moments trying on more clothes, eating a hasty lunch, and then struggling with her hair for the better part of an hour. In the end, she went for a stylish bedhead and her classic navy Hugo Boss skirt and jacket with a white top that revealed a bit more of her decolletage than was absolutely necessary. 

* * *

Verso Centre de Conférences was a walking distance from her flat, though she did not dare try it in heels. The evening started at four and Ann got to the centre with plenty of time to spare. Registration done and sensible shoes changed to her favourite slingback mules, Ann checked her mascara and hair in the anteroom mirror before diving right in.

The foyer was three floors tall with sleek, contemporary glass staircases circling the walls. It was full of people in business attire, conversing in a loud mix of French and English. Thanks to her family’s connections to the venture capital industry Ann knew a lot of the faces and names, but she was not in a mood to socialise. Her purse under her arm, she snatched a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and found a hiding place next to a potted fern.

In the quiet of the moment, Ann felt foolish. Why was she here? To see Anne Lister at a distance and then … what? What did she think was going to happen? What did she _ want _ to happen?

_ I have no clue. I just want to see her. Maybe tractor beam her into my arms? Though I think that would kill me. _

With no name or purpose found for her obsession, Ann sipped her champagne and sighed. _ You silly girl. _

At ten past four, a bell dinged and the lights in the foyer dimmed. A spotlight came on and swiveled to point at the mezzanine level balcony, where a man in a conservative blue suit stood leaning on the glass banister. He opened with words of greeting in English and French, but Ann was not listening to him at all. All her focus was on the tall figure ascending the side stairs towards the mezzanine.

“...and without further ado, to open our Innovation Showcase evening, here is Anne Lister, Founding Partner at Brazen Ventures.”

To the sound of polite applause from the audience, Anne stepped into the spotlight and took the microphone from the host. Ann downed the last of her champagne and felt it tingle down her throat. 

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.”

Anne’s voice was a jolt to her system; Ann had not heard it in ten years. And she looked smashing. 

Ann swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. _ Holy fuck. _

Anne was wearing an immaculate charcoal grey suit, tuxedo collar turned up and narrow toreador trousers slung low on her hips. Underneath the suit she had a black, diaphanous top and on her feet, the deadliest stilettos Ann had seen in a while. Her jacket sleeves were pushed up to her elbows, revealing tattooed forearms. 

“Innovation is about revolution, so let’s set the tone for tonight,” Anne said.

Behind her, the giant projector screen went from white to blood red, and the words FUCK THE FDA appeared. A collective gasp came from the crowd. Anne broke into a broad, devilish grin and flipped her glossy hair back. 

”Now that you are all awake, I’m going to tell you all the dirty secrets of the giants strangling the medtech market, and how we can make our own rules from now on.”

Ann exhaled a breath she hadn’t realised she had been holding. All of her youthful infatuation, all of the singular obsession she had for this woman was back. 

_ Bloody hell. Coming here was such a bad idea. _

* * *

At the evening cocktail hour, Ann could no longer avoid people. Though her cousins were the day-to-day faces of the Walker Trust, Ann and her sister were the trustees and thus had final control over the money. The trust had a long history of investing in startups because that’s where her parents’ interests had been and so, she was used to people sidling up to her to talk about money.

Ann took a caviar canape and a glass of white wine from the tray of a passing waiter. The air in the winter garden was hot and stifling, and she wished she had left her jacket at the coat check. At least the wine was cold.

“...so we’re spinning that service off as a new startup, hopefully during this spring if we get enough seed funding,” Sam Washington was saying, his voice hopeful. “Looking at targeting DACH first, Germany looks really promising from market research.”

Ann glanced at him and grinned. “Samuel Washington, are you hitting me up for money?”

Sam looked back, his smile unrepentant. A former employee of the trust, he had set off on his own series of startups years ago - some successful, most not. Ann liked him for his earnestness, diligence, and steady good spirits. 

“Well, only if you’re interested! I’m here to woo the Germans, mostly, but I’m not above wooing you, too.”

“Oh, Germans as in Holtzbrine and Eilalia? Good luck with them.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah, thanks. Going to need all the luck.” His gaze shifted past Ann’s shoulder and his eyebrows jumped. “Good lord, all of Yorkshire in one place.”

Ann caught the scent of perfume a moment before she heard the voice.

“Mr Washington. How are you?”

Anne Lister slid between her and Sam, and shook his hand. Ann stared at Anne’s back, the crease of her blazer’s shoulder seam razor sharp. She inhaled that perfume again; it was the same Anne had worn ten years ago, fiendish and masculine. 

“Ms Lister!” Sam exclaimed ”It’s been years, hasn’t it? Great talk today, that was the longest ovation I’ve ever heard at one of these things.”

“Mmm, yes. I fear I’m now infamous rather than famous.” 

Anne’s voice was full of satisfaction, a rough edge of danger lurking underneath. Ann shivered and gripped her wine glass harder. 

“I think you’ve been infamous for years, Ms Lister, and this just solidified your reputation.” Sam tore his eyes away from Anne and glanced at Ann. “Have you two ever met, by the way?”

When Anne turned, Ann took a deep breath and willed her heart to slow down.

“Oh yes, we have. Miss Walker, is it not?”

Ann took the offered hand and met Anne’s eyes, more boldly than she felt. “Yes. Yes. Call me Ann. We met ten years ago, if you remember?”

Anne’s smile made Ann’s knees weak, it was so brilliant and she was _ so _ close. “I remember everything. Despite the circumstances, it was a lovely day.”

“Oh, I made a fool of myself that afternoon. I think- I think it was the first time I had champagne.”

“I only remember how full of life you were.”

With that, Anne withdrew her hand. Ann felt the ghost of a touch on her palm as Anne’s fingers dragged across it. She pressed the hand against her cold wine glass. 

As tense silence settled between them, the din of conversation around them seeming ever louder. Anne leaned back, still looking at Ann, and put her hands in her trouser pockets. Her expression was contemplative as she blinked slowly and licked her lower lip. And then her eyes wandered downwards. 

Ann felt a blush rise from her cleavage.

“Mr Washington,” Anne said, not taking her eyes off Ann. “Have you noticed that your CTO is parked at the hard liquor bar, double-fisting gin and tonics?”

“Oh bloody hell. If you excuse me, Ann. Ms Lister.”

Amused, Ann glanced at Sam as he started towards the bar with alacrity.

“That was smooth, Ms Lister.”

”Mm. It’s Anne. And you need more wine. C’mon.”

Anne took her hand and pulled her into the crowd. Ann followed, feeling giddy and gleeful, and snatched another glass of wine from a tray. They ended up at the far end of the winter garden, a floor to ceiling glass wall through which they could see a riot of greenery. A glass ledge ran along the length of the window and Ann perched on a barstool next to it. She felt clumsy, fidgeting in her heels and juggling her purse and drink. 

Anne took the next stool. She twirled her glass of pastis in her fingers, the rattle of ice cubes almost drowned by the din of conversation and the light piano music playing in the background.

”So, Ann. What brings you to Paris?”

Ann started to say something about art history post-grad studies, but then closed her mouth. She shouldn’t lie. She should be interesting. ”It’s pure escapism for me.”

Anne lifted an amused eyebrow. ”Explain?”

”My family drives me crazy on a good day. You know at least Aunt Eliza, how she is.”

”Ah, yes. I see.”

”So I’ve run off to Paris to be able to live my life how I want to live it, rather than how they think I should. Most of them, especially the Rawson side, have very strong opinions on How Things Should Be.”

”Mmm. And so, have you?”

”Have I what?”

”Lived your life in Paris as you’d want?”

Ann bit her lower lip, thinking back to the dull domesticity of her life and the handful of Bumble dates she had been on - none of which had led to anything beyond confusion or boredom. She sighed.

”No, I’m afraid not. It’s just been… regular life, much as it was back in London. Or York or Halifax.”

”Usually people run off to Paris for one of two reasons. Either to escape a broken heart,” Anne said and paused to sip her drink. ”Or to elope with a lover.”

_ Is she fishing, or am I imagining it? _ Ann thought and took a large gulp of her wine. ”I’m resolutely single, I’m afraid. So which one is it for you?”

Anne’s laugh was warm and low. ”For me, it’s just Brexit. So boring. So bad for business.”

”I think that counts as a broken heart, in a way.”

”You might be right. But I’ve always loved Paris, heartbroken or not. I was a biotech research fellow at Sorbonne for a year, before I got fed up with academia and its lack of money,” Anne said, staring out the window. ”It was a wonderful year. I could never tire of Paris.”

”Before this, I’ve only been here on short vacations. And now, even after eight months, I feel I’ve only scratched the surface.”

Anne’s gaze shifted back to Ann and she leaned forward, her elbow on the glass ledge. ”There are things you can only experience in Paris.”

Boldened by the wine, Ann leaned forward as well. This brought them so close she could smell Anne’s sharp perfume again, and see the laugh lines at the corners of her eyes. Anne was watching her.

”Like what?” Ann asked.

”Oh, I don’t think I could do them justice by explaining. I would have to show you.”

And then Ann felt Anne’s fingers on the inside of her knee, tracing slow circles. The touch sparked instant, aching arousal, low in her abdomen. _ Oh god. Don’t be a useless lesbian now, Ann. _

”I think, hm, I am curious,” Ann said, trying to keep her voice level and failing. She glanced at Anne’s hand on her knee, magical and electric, and then traced her finger along one of the tattoo lines on Anne’s forearm. She grasped Anne’s wrist and nudged her hand under the skirt, along the inside of her thigh. ”I’m curious, where would you start? Surely there are so many experiences to choose from. This is Paris, after all.”

There was a fleeting moment of surprise on Anne’s face, but it was quickly replaced by a brilliant smile. The hand under her skirt flexed and Ann’s breath caught as she felt blunt fingernails scratch the inside of her thigh. She could sense the heat rising to her cheeks but she refused to be embarrassed. She met Anne’s gaze steadily, unblinkingly, for this longest moment of her life. 

The dinner bell rang.

People all around them started filing out of the winter garden towards the ballroom but still, Anne was just looking at her, fire in her eyes. Anne’s hand was still under Ann’s skirt when she finally stood up, set her drink down, and slid her other hand into Ann’s hair at the nape of her neck. A frisson ran through Ann. 

”I know exactly where I will start,” Anne whispered into Ann’s ear. The cool silk of her hair brushed Ann’s heated cheek. Ann’s eyes fluttered closed.

And then Anne’s hands and scent were gone. Ann opened her eyes, startled, and looked around frantically until she saw her. Anne was walking backwards amidst the dinner crowd, hands in her trouser pockets again. With a crooked grin, she mouthed _ tomorrow, _turned, and disappeared into the throng of people. 


	4. And the First of Tomorrows

When Ann got back home, she flopped on the sofa and put her hands to her face. 

“Holy fuck.”

Ann heard her words echo in the quiet flat. They also echoed in her head, over and over.  _ Holy fuck, did that just happen? _

She had a seat at the Forum dinner, too, but she had skipped it - there was no way she could sit through four courses of mediocre conference food and focus on startup small talk. So she had fled. And left her trainers at the conference centre, she realised.

“Bloody hell,” Ann exhaled and got up. Her feet hurt from walking in her slingbacks.

In the kitchen, she poured herself a glass of wine from the half-empty bottle in her fridge and went to the window. She felt antsy and overstimulated, hands still shaking from the adrenaline of it. She needed to talk to someone about this.

She dug out her phone and dialled  _ Jack-o _ .

“Hey hey.”

“Hey, is this a bad time to talk?” Ann said.

Jack Smith-Wessington laughed. “You know, Ann, current netiquette says that the polite thing to do is to Whatsapp that question before calling.”

“Pfft. I’m old-fashioned.”

"So you are, pookie!” Ann hated Jack’s many nicknames for her but figured they were part of his cheery American obnoxiousness. So mostly she just ignored them. “I’m good. At my computer, as always. What’s up?”

“So I have this...problem. Dilemma. A thing I’ve started and I don’t know where it’s going. A thing-thing.” 

"Ooh! Tell me, tell me! Who is she? Not off Bumble, I hope?”

“Oh Jack,” Ann said and rolled her eyes. “You are entirely too eager, you know.”

“So sue me. I like to live vicariously through other people’s drama. Spill the beans, girl!”

Ann laughed, feeling calmer. Jack was one of the few people in her life who knew she was gay and who did not live in a different country. In fact, it was Jack who had nudged her towards the art history program at Paris Diderot; he was a computer science grad student there. They’d both been undergraduates at York and met at the Uni LGBT+ society, hitting off immediately all those years ago; since then, they had been best of friends. 

It all came out of Ann’s mouth in one big word vomit.

“So, hm, yes. Where to start. So I don’t think I’ve ever told you this story but there’s this woman, a family friend of sorts, and I’ve had a crush on her for the past ten years. And now tonight I saw her at a conference here and we had a couple of drinks at the reception. And then she had her hand up my skirt.”

“Ann! Are you serious!!” Jack said, his outraged giggles contagious. “Up your skirt?! Like, up up?” 

“Well, not like that. Just a bit up my skirt.”

“How far up is a bit? And, ooh, I have so many questions. Who is she?”

Ann bit the inside of her cheek as she grinned. It felt good to tell someone, to share her giddiness. “A very respectable bit up my skirt but nowhere near indecent. And, erm, her name is Anne Lister. If you google her, she’s the first hit.”

Ann heard the brief clatter of keyboard from Jack’s end and then he whistled. “Holy shitballs, you mean she’s  _ that _ Anne Lister? Really? She’s like the Caligula of venture capitalists, relentless and fucking ruthless. And loaded.” Jack had run a startup for a few years before retreating to the safety of academia, so he knew the VC market well.

“Yeah, that’s her. And let the record show that I put her hand up my skirt, it did not wind up there accidentally.”

“Oh girl, you are on fire! How come you were at this conference? You don’t usually go to these things. And more importantly, are you going to put her hand up your skirt - and other places - again?”

Jack’s voice was full of laughter and Ann could not help but grin. She felt hot and cold all over again, just thinking of how Anne’s fingers had felt on her thigh and what she had whispered into her ear. 

“Given half an opportunity, I’d smash. So that’s a yes.” She studiously ignored his question about the conference coincidence. 

“Ha! Well, Google Images tells me she’s a total stunner in that gender non-conforming villain kind of a way and I highly approve of her taste in ties, so you’re good to go.”

“Thanks for the vote of approval, dad.”

Jack laughed and his keyboard clattered some more. “When are you seeing her again?”

Ann frowned. “That’s the thing. We, uh, she got whisked away to the conference dinner and all she said was, ‘tomorrow’.” Only now did Ann realise they hadn’t exchanged phone numbers or anything. “Well, shit.”

“Well, what would you want to do with her?”

_ I’d want her to tie me up with one of her neckties and fuck me senseless, _ Ann almost said and felt her throat tighten at the thought. Instead, she just said, “I don’t actually know what she likes.”

Just then, her phone buzzed. Ann took the phone off her ear and glanced at the message. She almost dropped her phone.

_ \---20:56 [unknown number] Tomorrow, 6 pm? _

"Oh shit, I think it’s her. She’s texted me,” Ann hissed to Jack. “Six o’clock tomorrow.”

“What happens then?”

“I don’t know! That’s all the message said.”

“Well, is she the type to invite you to a Michelin star restaurant or straight into her sex dungeon for some light spanking?”

“Jack-o!” Ann laughed, pleasantly outraged. “I wouldn’t put either past her, actually.”

Jack whooped in delight. “Well, answer her, honeybuns. I can’t stand the suspense!”

Ann typed a quick reply, which came out far too long and eager. She deleted it and went for brevity:

_ \---20:58 [Ann Walker] Sounds good! Where? _

_ \---20:59 [unknown number] Les Passerelles, rue Saulnier. I’ll be dying for a negroni by 6 pm.  _

_ \---20:59 [Ann Walker] Fantastic! See you there. _

“Well? Speak to me, girl!” 

Ann put the phone back to her ear and said, “We’re going to a place on Saulnier for, well, I guess for drinks. She likes negronis.”

“I’ll start a list. So far, on the list of things Anne Lister likes is: fabulous neckties, spanking, negronis, her hand up Ann Walker’s skirt. I like the sound of this Friday evening for you, honey.”

Ann laughed again. “Okay, Jack-o. I’ll leave you to your keyboard now. I’ve got to go and figure out what I’m wearing tomorrow evening.”

“A skirt and no underwear?”

“I am seriously considering it, believe me.”

“You are so thirsty, girl.”

“Don’t I know it.”

When they hung up, Ann felt better. This was no longer a secret, something she had to process and feel on her own. At times like this she wished she’d had the courage to come out to her family, or at least to Elizabeth, but it had never seemed like the right time. And now, she felt it would be too much, too late.

Ann sighed and drained her wine. She was very good at avoiding conflict, especially when it came to her family. Her running away to Paris was merely another manifestation of that.

On that thought, she went to bed.

* * *

At 5:58 pm, Ann checked her phone for the fifth time, took a deep breath, and went through the front door of Hotel Parister. As the door closed behind her, she was struck by the quiet; outside on rue Saulnier, it had been the usual cacophony of Parisian rush hour. 

Ann crossed the lobby, her heels sinking silently into the plush carpets there and then clicking loudly on the marble floor when she entered Les Passerelles, the restaurant attached to the hotel. There were few people in, six o’clock being far too early for Parisians to dine. 

Ann spotted Anne in the far corner of the restaurant bar and her heartbeat quickened. Anne was sprawled out on an enormous dark green velvet sofa, rifling through what seemed like a stack of business cards. She was wearing a dark grey pinstripe three-piece suit over a white dress shirt and a black tie; her brogues were electric blue. Her hair was up in a high chignon bun, which exposed the undercut at the nape of her neck. On the low coffee table in front of her was an untouched drink.

When she got closer, Anne got up and put the business cards in her breast pocket. 

”Hello, Ann. You look lovely.”

Ann felt underdressed in her sky blue trousers and black top, though she felt glad she had chosen her best black fuck-me heels. Her breath hitched as Anne grasped her hand and gave her an air kiss on both cheeks.  _ Good lord, Ann, calm down or you’ll not survive tonight. _

”I love your shoes. Although the ones from yesterday were great, too. Very different.”

Anne smiled, sat back down, and tilted her head. ”I like to subvert expectations, now and again. Come, sit down.”

Ann glanced at the chair on the other side of the coffee table. Too far away. She sat on the opposite end of Anne’s sofa. 

”So what would you like to drink?”

Ann exhaled and tried to relax. “Hm, what would you recommend? I’ve never been here.”

The waiter came to hover next to them. “ _ Une rose noire, s’il vous plaît _ ,” Anne said and turned back to Ann. “Thank you for coming here. The Forum brings everyone to Paris this week and so I’ve been stuck in interminable meetings all afternoon at the hotel conference suite - the Germans are staying here.”

The waiter arrived with Ann’s drink, milky pink froth in a tumbler, garnished with rosemary and blackberries.

“So what’s in a black rose?”

“Vermouth, mostly. Don’t have too many or I’ll have to carry you out of here.”

“Oh, that wouldn’t be so bad,” Ann said and sipped her drink, her eyes meeting Anne’s. “Any good deals this week? How is the VC market?”

Anne was silent for a moment, her fingers absentmindedly stroking the condensation on her negroni glass. Ann found it hypnotic.

“Well. The Germans are finally coming out of their perpetual delusion that a thing must be made in Germany for it to be worth anything. So a lot of startups eyeing that market, but also German VCs doing the unthinkable and investing in French companies.”

“Interesting transformation. Especially with the French then accepting German money.”

“Mmm, yes. And Germans accepting French money, equally unthinkable. Your family trust still does most of its investing in the UK, I imagine?”

Ann sighed and tried to recall the executive summary of the previous year’s annual report. “With Brexit looming, the past two years have been all about diversification. Even stuff like Latin America and the Nordics. But I confess I don’t know much about the day to day operations of the trust.”

“Just  _ la belle vie _ for you, then?” Anne said, not unkindly, and smiled. She adjusted her tie in her waistcoat.

“Trust fund girl, passing time studying art history,” Ann said, lifting her glass in a toast. 

“So, tell me, Ann Walker. If you don’t do business on behalf of your family trust, why were you at the Venture Capital Forum?”

_ Oof, _ Ann thought and gulped down the last of her drink.  _ She’s good.  _

"Well”, she started and paused. “The truth, as embarrassing as it is, is that I came to see you.”

“Really? Are you stalking me?” There was no malice in Anne’s gaze or voice, merely amused curiosity.

“No!” Ann said and leaned forward, her hand on Anne’s knee. The wool of her suit felt luxurious and warm. “I haven’t thought of you in ten years.”  _ That’s a lie, Ann. _ “And then, quite by coincidence, I saw you last weekend at Georges Carpentier. That’s where my gym is and I came to the arena for coffee and, well, uh…”

Anne blinked, clearly astonished. “Oh, at the fencing circuit? Really?”

“Yes! I saw your name on the schedule and I was… stunned. That we’d met in Halifax all those years ago and now we were both in Paris of all places.”

“So why didn’t you come and talk to me there?”

Ann cleared her throat, now acutely embarrassed. She was really starting to sound like a stalker. And then Anne put her hand on top of Ann’s, on her knee. A shiver went through Ann.

“Well. Has anyone ever told you that you can be a bit intimidating?”

Anne threw back her head and laughed, and squeezed Ann’s hand. “Oh, I see. So you figured you’d just stalk me from a distance at the Forum. Then I ruined your plan by coming to talk to Mr Washington at the reception.”

“Pretty much, yeah,” Ann said. “You’ve sussed me out.”

“So, the question still remains. Why?”

Ann took a deep breath and looked away for a moment. She had started with the honest truth, so she should continue the same way. But it was not easy. 

“A few reasons. One is, meeting you is one of the few pleasant memories I have of the time when, uh, when my parents died. You were the only person who didn’t treat me like a fragile invalid that could not handle things.”

Anne squeezed her hand again. “Hmm, I see.”

“Second,” Ann said, smiled, and met Anne’s eyes. “Meeting you back then made me realise that I was really, really not straight.”

Anne let out a surprised laugh. “Oh! Really?”

“Yes. Really not straight. Really gay.”

“Any more reasons?”

“Well, there’s the one I did not think through, which was that I was going to use telepathy to compel you to… to kiss me. At the conference.” Ann heard the quiver in her voice but did not care. All her cards were on the table now.

Anne looked down at their hands on her knee, and then ran her fingers up Ann’s bare forearm, ever so lightly. Ann shivered in delight.

”And how did that plan work out for you?”

”Um, terribly. I have no aptitude for telepathy, not ten years ago and not now.”

Anne leaned forward and her hand cupped Ann’s face. She traced Ann’s lower lip with her thumb. When she spoke, her voice was a low, delicious whisper. ”So in a way, it was really fortunate I came to talk to Mr Washington.”

Ann was transfixed. She leaned her cheek into Anne’s hand and closed her eyes. There was that perfume again, on Anne’s wrist; its scent, and Anne’s nearness, was intoxicating.

”Yes. I agree.”

When Anne kissed her, everything else faded away. The bar, the other patrons, the music and the bright lights - nothing existed except Anne’s lips on hers, the hand on her face and neck, and the touch of Anne’s tongue on hers when the kiss deepened.

It was a long, delicious moment that ended too soon for Ann. She opened her eyes reluctantly to see Anne smirking at her. 

"Wow,” Ann breathed. ”So that’s what a negroni tastes like.”

Anne’s smile widened. ”A fantastic drink, isn’t it?”

”Quite. So what happens next?”

Anne pulled back her sleeve to check her watch; Ann noticed the silk knot cufflinks on her French cuffs were the same blue as her shoes.  _ Girl, you dapper as fuck. _

”Unfortunately, I have to dine with the damnable Germans in fifteen minutes.”

Ann’s heart dropped. ”Really?”

Anne glanced at her and slid her hands up Ann’s forearms. There was heat in her eyes. ”I know. Not my choice on how I’d want this evening to go. Lunch on Sunday?”

Ann leaned closer so that her mouth was right by Anne’s ear and said, ”Or how about you ditch the Germans after the espresso and have your digestif at my place.” She couldn’t resist the temptation any more; she touched her lips to Anne’s neck. She hummed against Anne’s skin as she felt a hand twist around her French braid and pull.

”You need to stop that or I will not be held liable for my actions, Ann.” 

Ann gave in to the insistent pull at her braid and straightened. ”So is that a yes?”

By way of reply, Anne kissed her, hard. Then she stood up and brushed her thumb across Ann’s lower lip again.

”I will let you know.”

And then she was gone. 

Ann leaned back on the sofa and touched her lips. They felt tender. She felt hot and aroused, her nerves tingling with unnamed anticipation. Her phone dinged and she dug it out of her bag.

_ \---18:51 [Jack-o] How the date going?? I need details, stat!! :D _


	5. Four Out of Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is just pure smut now. Oops.

Ann’s feet were just about done when she got home. She kicked her Pradas off in the foyer and sank into her sofa. Her body was humming with energy. She thought about having a wank but decided against it. Just in case.

Instead, she changed into her favourite leggings and a tank top. In the kitchen, she made herself a stiff gin and tonic, put on her sexy music playlist, and started cleaning. She had extra energy to burn and, well, it was good not to have stray socks laying around if Anne did decide to cut her dinner short.

When done with the kitchen, Ann sat down on the sofa with her phone and finally replied to Jack’s message.

_ \---20:12 [Ann Walker] Date was just drinks _

_ _\---_20:12 [Ann Walker] She had a hot dinner date scheduled with some German startup assholes! The gall _

_ _\---_20:14 [Ann Walker] She’s a great kisser tho. Maybe I’ll forgive her _

_ _\---_20:16 [Jack-o] O M G _

_ _\---_20:16 [Jack-o] What happens next? Whennnnn??? _

_ _\---_20:17 [Ann Walker] Up to her. Maybe tonight maybe tomorrow _

_ _\---_20:17 [Jack-o] You are killing me _

_ _\---_20:17 [Jack-o] Seriously _

_ _\---_20:17 [Jack-o] Nnnnnggggggg _

Ann laughed. He was such a sweetheart. She drained her drink and decided to close her eyes, just for a moment.

The ding of her phone woke her up. Groggy, she checked her messages. 

_ _\---_21:33 [Anne Lister] 10 minutes _

Ann was immediately wide awake. ”Oh shit!”

She shot up and restarted her playlist. Then she stumbled into the bathroom, brushed her teeth, undid her sleep-mussed braid and wiped off some of her smudged eyeliner. When the doorbell rang, she was applying lip gloss. 

”Hello,” Ann breathed as she opened the door. ”Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

Anne was still in the same suit but now her tie was loosened and the top button of her shirt was undone. Cradled along one arm was a bottle of champagne. 

”The Germans are very upset with you.”

Ann laughed and gestured Anne in. ”They wanted to keep you all night?”

”Yes, to ply me with drinks in exchange for seed funding. Too bad for them.”

Anne set the champagne on the foyer sideboard and took off her suit jacket, draping it over a chair. Ann took her by the arm, snatched the bottle, and steered her into the kitchen. She took out two champagne glasses and paused. 

”Wait, how do you know where I live?”

”You’re not the only savvy stalker here,” Anne said and winked. She leaned her hip against the kitchen island. ”But truth be told, I have a very capable assistant. He can find anything, including secret addresses and bottles of Mumm’s _ Cuvée R. Lalou 2002 _ at 9 pm on a Friday.”

Ann popped the cork and poured. She handed a glass to Anne and they toasted each other across the kitchen island. The champagne tasted divine, strong and complex and effervescent. 

”Mmm. Fantastic. Is this my first ’only in Paris’ experience?”

”First of many.”

There was a promise in those words and Ann felt tension coil in her abdomen. Anne drained her glass and undid her cuffs. Ann watched, her mouth suddenly dry, as Anne rolled up her sleeves. In the cool light of the kitchen, she could see the tendons in her forearms shift under the tattoos.

When Anne started on her tie, Ann put her hand up. ”Can I?”

Anne’s hands stilled. ”If you’d like.”

Ann’s hands shook as she pulled the tie from within Anne’s waistcoat. The silk was cool and slippery in her fingers; she undid the knot and wound the ends of the tie around her hands. Unable to resist the temptation any longer, she tugged Anne into a kiss.

The kiss was wondrous; Ann wished it would never end. Anne’s lips slid against hers, smooth and soft, and then Anne pushed her against the kitchen island. The cold, hard edge of the marble countertop dug into the small of her back but Ann didn’t care, because Anne’s hands were on her hips and Anne’s thigh was between her legs.

“Oh god,” Ann moaned when Anne’s mouth moved to her neck and her hands pushed Ann’s tank top slowly up, the touch leaving trails of fire on her skin. 

“Mmm, you taste so good,” Anne murmured against her neck. 

“Better, ah, better than a negroni?” 

Ann felt Anne smile against her neck and then she felt teeth, nipping at her skin. Anne’s hands slid inside her tank top and cupped her breasts, thumbs on her nipples sparking fire. A persistent, familiar ache tightened inside her. When Anne’s thigh pressed up into her, Ann felt her growing wetness.

“That depends, Ann.”

Ann’s head lolled back. Anne’s hands moved from her breasts to her ass, pressing her harder against her thigh. Ann made a breathy whine and it sounded so very desperate to her own ears. “Depends on, oh god Anne... on what?”

“On what other parts of you taste like.”

Ann’s knees felt weak at the implication and she grasped Anne’s shoulders, grinding herself against the hard thigh at her groin. She was panting by now and her arousal was was intensified by the sound of Anne’s rough breathing in her ear. 

“Ohh,” Ann groaned. She was so turned on and yet, there were so many layers of fabric between her and Anne. “Should we, oh, move to the bedroom? Please…”

“All in good time, Ann,” Anne breathed, her voice low and wicked. She slid her hands into Ann’s leggings, cupping her ass. “I plan to fuck you in every room tonight.”

_ Oh fuck. Oh god. Oh fuck. _Ann grasped Anne by the neck and kissed her, hard and sloppy. 

“Are you sure?” Ann gasped when their lips parted. “This is... a very large flat.”

Anne pulled back and smiled. Her eyes held fire and mischief and a dark promise. “Mmm, I enjoy a good challenge. Get up on the counter.”

Ann blinked, took a deep breath, and then pushed herself up to sit on the island countertop. As she did this, Anne deftly pulled both her leggings and her underwear down to her knees. The marble was cold on Ann’s ass and she felt momentary awkwardness because of her half-undressed state. It didn’t last long; when Anne yanked her leggings clean off and came to stand between her legs, Ann forgot everything except the bruising kiss she got. 

Then Anne leaned back and licked her lips. Ann saw they were very red. She felt Anne’s gaze rake her up and down, hands on her thighs. Ann felt exposed, naked except for her tank top and legs spread wide, while Anne had not even unbuttoned her waistcoat.

“I feel very underdressed.”

Anne squeezed her thighs. “Just the way I like it.”

“I see,” Ann said and smiled. She pulled off her tank top and tossed it aside. Anne’s eyes went immediately to her breasts; her nipples hardened under that hot gaze.

“You are so beautiful,” Anne murmured and pinched her nipple. Ann shivered, goosebumps rising along her arms. “And responsive.”

“Oh, you seem to bring out the best in me.”

Anne leaned into her again, lips on her neck. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy finding out more, then.”

Ann leaned back on her hands, her body quivering with anticipation. She could feel Anne’s fingers on the insides of her thighs, approaching her centre with maddening slowness. The first touch there was gentle and teasing and Ann whined in frustration. She felt Anne smile against her neck. 

When Anne’s fingers finally dipped fully into her wetness, tracing slowly along her folds, Ann’s head lolled back. Her jaw was slack and eyes closed, her mind fully focused on the feel of Anne’s hands on her. She slid closer to the edge of the counter, searching for more contact, but Anne would not hurry up.

“Mmm, you are so soft. Oh Ann…”

Anne’s groan made Ann shiver. ”Please don’t tease,” she panted. ”Oh god...”

Ann felt the first touch on her clit and her words came out in a moan. Anne’s breath was hot against her skin, on her neck and along her shoulder. She threaded her hand into Anne’s chignon and pressed her head down for more contact. In response, Anne bit her shoulder and at the same time, pushed two fingers into her. A jolt ran through Ann’s body.

“Oh god Anne, oh _ fuck _,” Ann moaned and slid even closer to the edge of the counter, wanting more. The heat of pain from her shoulder spread through her body. Anne’s fingers withdrew and filled her again, roughly, touching magical places inside her.

Anne set a languid pace and Ann grasped her shoulders, holding onto her shirt as she met each thrust. She was so wet she could feel the stickiness on the insides of her thighs; Anne’s fingers slid in and out of her with a wet, obscene sound. Ann moaned and then her breath hitched as Anne’s other hand came down to rub her clit, the pressure just so.

“Oh, Anne, oh, that’s perfect,” Ann groaned. “Can I… oh god, more, please.”

Anne obliged with more fingers and Ann felt deliciously full. She groaned again, her hips canting into Anne’s thumb on her clit. Anne’s lips slid along her neck again and the thought of that mouth between her legs sent Ann over the edge. She came hard and fast, her whole body convulsing with a moan of glorious pleasure, her fingers gripping Anne’s shoulders in a vice grip. 

Panting hard, Ann kept her eyes closed, feeling the aftershocks of pleasure ripple through her. Anne wrapped her in a hug and Ann buried her face in Anne’s shoulder. She breathed in the scent of fine wool and that vicious perfume.

“Oh, that was,” Ann started, her voice rough. She inhaled to steady her breath. “That was… quite something.”

“Mmm, so it was. More champagne?”

Ann disentangled from Anne and smiled, still breathless. “Please. Let’s, ah, let’s not have it go flat.”

Anne pulled back. Her eyes were bright as she gazed at Ann, and then she put her still-gleaming fingers in her mouth, sucking off Ann’s juices. A bolt of new arousal shot through Ann as she watched Anne’s eyes flutter closed. 

“Mmm. Better than a negroni.”

“If you say so.”

Anne’s teeth were very white against the raw redness of her lips when she smiled. “I do say so.”

Anne poured them more champagne and Ann tossed back the first glass quickly. She was parched. She set her glass down with a clink and as Anne poured more, she started unbuttoning Anne’s waistcoat. When done, she jumped off the counter and knelt, undoing the laces of Anne’s fabulous blue brogues. Anne made an amused sound in her throat.

“What are you doing?”

“I don’t want shoes on my fancy rugs. House rules,” Ann said, cheekily, and pulled off the shoes. Then she ran her hands up Anne’s legs, luxuriating in the feel of fine wool on her palms and the shift of firm muscle underneath. She undid Anne’s belt buckle and then stood up. 

Anne shrugged her waistcoat off and pulled her crumpled tie from under her collar with a swift sound. She rolled the tie into a neat coil and set it next to the champagne bottle.

“How many rooms?”

“Seven,” Ann said. She could not help her grin when Anne did a double take. 

“Good lord.”

“Yes. Library or bathroom next?”

“Mmm, I like the sound of the library,” Anne said, a rough edge to her voice. “Lead the way.”

“This way,” Ann said and took her hand. “Bring the tie. You might need it.”

* * *

Ann woke with a start. When she opened her eyes, it was still dark and she did not know the time - her phone was, well, she didn’t even know where. Nor did she care. 

She felt lingering unease; the dream that had woken her up had been restless but she could not remember the details. She turned on her side and looked at Anne who was sprawled out on her stomach next to her, sound asleep. The street lights outside gave the room a wan yellow glow and in that light, Ann could see the soft planes of muscle on Anne’s back rise and fall to the pace of her breathing. 

Memories of the night came to Ann and she felt herself blush anew. They had managed three rooms before Ann had tapped out, too exhausted to continue. But, oh, it had been superb. 

Anne was naked save for her black boy shorts. Ann had itched to feel and find out all she could of Anne, but she had not let Ann touch her most intimate places. Ann did not know why but she refused to worry too much; many years of therapy in her adolescence had taught her that everyone has different comfort levels. She had learned there was a wary, guarded side to Anne, in addition to the persistent, singular hedonist she had met the previous night.

With that thought, Ann got out of bed quietly. She got a glass of water from the kitchen and found her phone in the foyer. 7:28 am.

The doorbell rang. Ann frowned as she went to the door. The peephole showed a handsome young man, his hair impeccable and his clothes genuine French casual chic. Ann found Anne’s white shirt and buttoned it on herself. 

“Hello?” she called through the door.

_“ Bonjour, _ Miss Walker! I’m Thomas, Ms Lister’s assistant. I have breakfast for you.”

Ann blinked and opened the door, surprised. “Breakfast?”

Thomas smiled and gave Ann two coffees in paper cups, a white pastry bag, and a large garment bag. “Ms Lister is a thorough planner,” he said with a straight face. His English had a very strong northern accent.

“And maybe a bit arrogant in her assumptions,” Ann muttered and sniffed the pastry bag. Croissants, at least. She hung the garment bag on a coat hook. “Thanks, Thomas.”

“Please remind Ms Lister that her first appointment today is the eleven o’clock at the Shangri-La with the Chinese.”

“Oh no, she has to work on a Saturday?”

“This is how the Forum week always is,” Thomas sighed. “I will bring the car around at ten thirty. Have a great breakfast!”

With a final smile and wink, Thomas left. Ann wandered back into the bedroom. Anne was also awake, stretching in bed. 

“Was that Thomas?”

“Yes. A lovely man. You apparently ordered us breakfast. Last night.”

Anne smiled, unrepentant. “Well. I hope I wasn’t too presumptuous.”

Ann gave her a kiss and handed over a coffee before she got into bed next to Anne. “You would’ve had to escape through the kitchen window to get out of my wily clutches.”

“Are you wearing my shirt?”

“It’s mine now. Thomas brought you a new one, I think.”

“I see.” Anne smiled, tossed back her espresso in one go, and set the cup on the nightstand.

“Croissant?” Ann asked, digging around in the pastry bag. There was also a variety of jams and an eclair. 

“Mmm.” Anne straddled Ann’s hips. “We did kitchen, library, and the blue guest room, am I correct?”

Ann swallowed. By now, she knew that look in Anne’s eyes; it promised indecent things. “Yes. I think.”

“But not the bedroom,” Anne murmured and shifted her hips. “I know what I’m having for breakfast, then. Spread your legs.”

Ann exhaled shakily and did as she was told. Anne laid down between her legs and when Ann felt her tongue on the inside of her thigh, she forgot all about the croissants.


	6. Weekend Distractions

“I’m guessing you don’t want to upset the Chinese, too.”

“Some of us have to work for a living, you know,” Anne said. She gave Ann a reproachful look in the foyer mirror as she buttoned her waistcoat. 

“Maybe it’s for the best. I’m too sore to sit down and I need to seriously hydrate.”

Straightening her dark purple and grey tie, Anne turned. She had on a wicked smile. “I hate to half-ass a job, as the Americans say.”

"Well, you certainly didn’t half-ass my arse last night,” Ann said and tucked Anne’s tie into her waistcoat. This three-piece suit was black and had a subtle windowpane pattern; Thomas had paired it with another white shirt and glossy black Chelsea boots. 

“There should be cufflinks in the side pocket.”

Ann found titanium cufflinks in the garment bag and slipped one into Anne’s shirt cuff. “Monogrammed? You are such a dandy.”

"Many would say arriviste,” Anne said, humoured.

“Mmm. The fools,” Ann murmured, got the other cufflink in place, and kissed Anne’s knuckles. She then placed the hand on her breast that was covered only by her thin tank top. Her nipple puckered. “When are you coming back? I’m especially looking forward to the bathroom, you have a choice between the bathtub and the shower.”

Anne’s eyes flashed and her hand on Ann’s breast tightened, nipple held between thumb and forefinger. 

“Ann.”

“I can’t help myself,” Ann breathed, coming even closer. She had to say something, a truth, even if it left her vulnerable. She didn’t want to fuck this up. “Now that I’ve had you, I can’t stop wanting more.”

Anne slid her arms around Ann and pulled her into a kiss, slow and tender. Ann melted into it; it was not just lust but something more complex, perhaps a shared feeling of ease and joy. _ Uh-oh, Ann. This is getting dangerous. _

“Sunday morning?” Anne said as they parted. Her voice sounded unsteady. “I can’t wait to see you again.”

“I’m free Sunday, yes. You’ll let me know?”

“Mmm.” A honk sounded from the street, impatient and long. “That’s Thomas. I have to go. He’ll come to pick up my clothes later today.”

“I’ll be here, drinking my electrolytes.”

With a final smile and a kiss, Anne was gone. Ann sat down in the foyer chair; Anne’s other suit jacket was still draped over it. She traced the pinstripe pattern in the fine wool, the scent of Anne’s perfume faint in the air around her. Her heart felt full and heavy. 

Deciding not to explore that feeling quite yet, Ann sprang up and found her phone again. She had a lot of unread messages.

_ \---22:11 [Jack-o] So did your homegirl come through? Or no? _

_ _\---_22:13 [Jack-o] Hello??? _

_ _\---_22:19 [Jack-o] So either she’s there with you or you’re crying into a glass by yourself. If latter, holla at me _

_ _\---_22:30 [Jack-o] Press Y if she’s there with you _

_ _\---_22:30 [Jack-o] I want to knowwwwww _

_ _\---_22:34 [Jack-o] Aargghhhh _

_ _\---_23:41 [Jack-o] C’mon, sitrep, honeybuns! _

_ _\---_09:11 [Jack-o] I’m sending the cavalry soon if I don’t hear from you _

_ _\---_09:50 [Jack-o] Cavalry in 3 2 1 _

Ann grinned. 

_ _\---_10:33 [Ann Walker] I’m alive! Barely _

_ _\---_10:33 [Ann Walker] No cavalry needed _

_ _\---_10:34 [Ann Walker] Really. I’m good. Just exhausted and I need serious food _

_ _\---_10:35 [Jack-o] !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! _

_ _\---_10:35 [Jack-o] Well I got worried _

_ _\---_10:35 [Jack-o] So tell me! All of it _

_ _\---_10:38 [Ann Walker] She came over & we drank a whole bottle of champs _

_ _\---_10:40 [Ann Walker] Then she fucked me against every flat surface here _

_ _\---_10:41 [Jack-o] omg _

_ _\---_10:41 [Jack-o] OOOOMMMMMMFFffGGGG _

_ _\---_10:41 [Jack-o] brb dying _

_ _\---_10:42 [Ann Walker] She has work so she’s gone now. Borrowed my hairbrush and now there’s dark hair everywhere omg _

_ _\---_10:43 [Ann Walker] Late lunch? maybe 15 @ Les Halles? _

_ _\---_10:45 [Jack-o] bak from dying _

_ _\---_10:45 [Jack-o] Yes! O’Tacos? _

_ _\---_10:46 [Ann Walker] Deal _

“And now, water and a nap,” Ann muttered to herself.

* * *

”All right, tell it all. Spare no details.”

Ann was three bites into her O’Tacos burrito. She swallowed and poked Jack’s arm, hard.

”Why are you so interested?”

”I told you, I like to live vicariously through my friends’ more exciting lives. So,” he said, eyebrows waggling. ”How is she in the sack? Elaborate.”

”Well,” Ann said, internally debating between propriety and her overwhelming need to share her giddy joy with someone. The latter won. ”I can confirm she’s a fucking relentless magician in bed. And I can never again look at ties without getting turned on.”

”Ooooh,” Jack exclaimed and clapped his hands. ”Best fuck ever?”

”Hell yes best shag ever. Hands down.”

Jack leaned back and whooped, hands in the air. Ann buried her head in her hands, both amused and embarrassed. The longer Jack lived in France, the more American his personality seemed to get. Tall and lanky with perfect dark wavy hair and white teeth, he even looked like the quintessential college quarterback of American teen movies, rather than the computer science grad student he actually was.

”Well, the internet tells me she does have a bit of a reputation. Ms Lister likes the ladies. A lot. So she’s had plenty of practice.”

”Yeah. So I gather. I think… well, I hope that won’t be a problem.”

”In that she’s with someone now, or do you mean she might break your heart?”

Ann sighed. Trust Jack to get to the heart of the matter. He had been her stalwart support when she had gone through the ups and downs of her Uni relationships. He knew her so well, how her heart had been broken and how hard she had worked for her mental health in her youth.

”Either. Both.”

Jack took a big bite from his burrito. ”So what’re you gonna do?” he asked thickly around his mouthful. ”Don’t get hurt, babe.”

”I, uh, I think I’m falling for her, Jack-o. I’ve had a crush on her for ten years and now it’s like, wow.” Ann gestured with her burrito, showering her plate with salsa. ”Whoops. Yeah. She’s all that and more.”

”This sounds serious, Ann.”

”Yeah, well. She’s known me for, what, all of three days. So it’s way too early to have any sort of a relationship talk.”

Jack took her hand and pressed it against the sticky faux-wood table. ”Yeah, but… You gotta make sure you’re not just a notch on her bedpost, you hear me? You just gotta be you, and eventually she’s gonna love you right back, honeybuns.”

It made sense; so far, complete honesty about her intentions had been working. But how honest could she be without driving Anne away? How honest could she be without choking on her words? Ann sighed. She knew that even after all her therapy, she had trouble being vulnerable in front of people unless she felt safe. Yet she had felt utterly safe with Anne.

”Well, all right,” Ann said and lifted her mojito in a salute. ”Here’s to honesty. Come hell or high water.”

Jack touched his glass to hers. ”I’m rooting for ya. You bag that babe, OK?”

”Will do,” Ann said and smiled. ”Your turn. How’s the Grindr life?”

Jack inhaled through his teeth. ”Ooh, we’ll need more mojitos if we’re gonna go there.”

* * *

Anne’s text message Saturday evening had said only_ ’8 am, 4 rue Lobineau’. _A quick google had told Ann it was a covered market in Saint-Germain. Amused at the terse message, Ann had once again browsed through most of her wardrobe. It seemed like a casual occasion, so she’d gone for skinny jeans and t-shirt with a yellow leather jacket.

Eight o’clock on a Sunday was really early for Ann, so she’d brought coffee with her, waking up slowly during her Metro ride. She arrived five minutes early and stood near the market entrance, finishing her coffee. Produce carts, wheels of cheese, and boxes of fresh fish were being hauled inside in a cacophony of smells and shouts that echoed in the crispy, clear March air. 

Ann saw Anne from afar. She was marching towards the market at a brisk, commanding clip, typing furiously on the phone in her hands. She paid little attention to the people around her who were forced to jump out of her way. Ann giggled to herself. 

”Good morning, Ann,” Anne said with a smile and gave her a kiss. She waved her phone in the air and frowned. ”Sorry. A startup in our portfolio down in Sophia Antipolis is driving me around the bend. I’m going to have to fire a couple of board members soon.”

”Can you fire them on Monday?”

Anne exhaled and her frown melted away, replaced by a lopsided grin. ”I make a habit of not firing people on Sundays, yes.”

”So put your phone away and deal with it tomorrow?”

”Mmm. Yes,” Anne said put her phone to the back pocket of her jeans. ”Done.”

Ann liked this casualwear Anne. Her pale blue Oxford shirt was tucked into dark denim jeans and her lace-up boots were a couple of shades darker than her knee-length camel hair coat. Ann laced her fingers with Anne’s, feeling a little thrill at the closeness. 

”So what’s your plan for today?”

”Well, I thought we’d shop for ingredients here and then I’d cook you a leisurely brunch,” Anne said and pulled her into the market. She leaned closer. ”And then I’ll bend you over my kitchen table and fuck you leisurely, too.”

Ann shivered and her breath caught in her throat. 

”Um, well then… I’ll pay for the ingredients. I insist.”

Anne’s smile was brilliant and contagious. ”It’s a deal.”


	7. On the Left Bank

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand smut. Fair word of warning: it's, uh, not entirely vanilla.

”... and so I have great fondness for Morisot now, for the elegance and lightness of her portrayal of Parisian life at the time.” Ann paused, frowning. ”You sure I can’t help?”

”I’ll be done in a minute.”

Ann sipped her champagne and leaned back in her chair. From her vantage point at Anne’s dining table, she had a lovely view into the kitchen that was all matte grey and industrial stainless steel. Anne’s profile was a study in concentration as she cooked.

Suddenly inspired, Ann put her glass down and dug into her bag. She found her sketchbook and one of the numerous #2 pencils that always rolled around at the bottom of the bag. On a fresh page, she captured Anne’s profile, the strand of dark hair that had escaped her chignon, and the sharp planes of her collar, back, and arms. She paid extra attention to how Anne’s forearms looked with her shirt cuffs turned up to her elbows.

”Done,” Anne said and brought the cast iron pan to the table. ”More champagne?”

”Of course. Only in Paris, champagne with everything. Though a Spanish omelette is not very Parisian?”

Anne sat down and poured more champagne. ”Well, this is the Latin Quarter. Rebellious and contrary by nature.”

”Very true,” Ann said and tore the sketch out of her sketchbook. She handed it to Anne, who stilled. ”Consider this a thank you for cooking for me.”

”Ann, this is really good. I didn’t realise…”

”That I’m not just a pretty face?” Ann said, smiling. ”I study art history because I love art and that includes creating it. Croquis has always been one of my fondest pastimes. And you inspire me.”

Anne set the drawing down on the table and tapped it with her fingers. ”Thank you. I don’t think anyone has ever… drawn me.”

”I hope to do many more.”

When Anne smiled at her, Ann felt a blush rising to her cheeks. She busied herself with the brunch: omelette, seasonal root vegetables, smoked fish, and of course champagne. It was all excellent, created and selected with the same obsessive precision Anne Lister seemed to apply to everything, from her clothes and the way she did business to… sex. Ann swallowed and looked around.

There was a lot to look at in Anne’s place. The open concept area spanned the whole flat and its cavernous ceilings were typical of the first floor  _ etage noble _ of Haussmann buildings. The dining table they were sitting at was an enormous plane of gleaming white and could seat at least twelve people. The living room area had a restrained collection of modern sofas, chairs, area rugs, and antique fireplaces; tall windows let in the cold, bright March light. Sunlight gleamed on the parquet floors and in the riotous colours of the contemporary art on the walls. Ann was itching to take a closer look at the paintings.

“Have you always loved art?” Anne asked.

”Drawing is one of those things where you only get good through years and years of practice. I spent a lot of my childhood drawing. I couldn’t run off to Paris as a teenager so I needed a different escape method.”

Anne nodded and polished off the last of her omelette. ”I spent most of my younger years dreaming how to become so rich that nobody would care that I’m odd.” Her tone was light but there was an underlying sense of wistfulness to the words.

”But you’re not odd!”

Anne glanced at her, the quirk of her eyebrow sardonic. ”Have you seen me?”

”I just think you’re… quite singular,” Ann said, searching for the right words. ”And brave, for being true to yourself and who you are. I wish I was half as courageous as you are.”

”Hmm.”

Ann studied Anne who seemed lost in thought, eyes on the bubbles rising in her champagne. ”Are you all right, Anne? You seem... melancholy.”

Anne was silent for a moment and then looked at her. Behind her eyes, it seemed to Ann she was struggling with how much she should reveal of whatever it was that was troubling her. 

“I was just thinking of something Coco Chanel said, which is that she drinks champagne when she’s in love, and also when she’s not,” Anne started, and then looked away, towards the far end of the living room. “I wasn’t being quite truthful when I told you I came to Paris because of Brexit. Sure, it’s part of it, but also… I was running away from heartbreak.”

_ Oh.  _ Ann set her glass down and put her hand on Anne’s, on top of the drawing. “I’m sorry.”

“And the reason why I’m… well. I got a wedding invitation yesterday. Hand-delivered on a Saturday night, if you can believe it.” Anne gestured at the sideboard next to the dining table. On it, Ann could see an envelope of heavy cream paper. “She’s getting married, but not to me.”

_ Oh damn. _ Parts of Ann’s heart suddenly felt strained. Her immediate, visceral reaction was to retreat into herself, in the safety of distance, but she consciously discarded the instinct. After all, she had decided to be brave and she  _ had _ asked. 

Forcing herself into action, Ann stood up and took Anne’s hand.

“C’mon. Let’s sit on the sofa.”

Ann selected a sofa she thought was far enough away from the envelope. She sat down and nudged Anne to lie down, her head in Ann’s lap. She undid Anne’s chignon and ran her hand through the dark hair, combing it smooth. The frown line between Anne’s eyebrows melted away and Anne closed her eyes.

“Mmm. This is nice.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Anne opened her eyes and looked up at Ann. Her mouth twisted into a grin. “Are we now at the point where we talk about our exes?”

Ann smiled. She felt equal parts trepidatious and curious; she wanted to learn more about Anne but too much information could be hurtful. She again decided on bravery, even if she didn’t exactly feel brave. “Oh please no, I can’t go through mine without dying of embarrassment. But tell me about her. As much or as little as you want.” 

Anne sighed and closed her eyes again. “Only if you keep doing that to my hair. It feels nice.”

“A fair bargain, m’lady.”

“Well. Mmm. It’s been almost a year so I thought I was over it, but then I got the invite.” Anne paused, frowning again. “It’s not so much that Vere is getting married. I  _ am  _ over her, would never go back to her now. It’s that... this is not the first time this has happened.”

_ Ah. _ It clicked for Ann. This was the wariness she had sensed in Anne, the studied nonchalance and the care with which she set her words. She had been burned, repeatedly, and so she had learned to be careful with her heart. 

“Mariana Lawton, too?” Anne’s eyes flew open and at her astonished look, Ann grinned, unrepentant. “I’m an adept Instagram stalker, you know.”

Anne exhaled; she sounded more amused than outraged. She reached up and ran her hand along Ann’s upper arm. Goosebumps rose where she touched. “Mariana is the same story but a different decade. I was... too butch for her, I suppose.”

Ann’s heart ached, this time not for herself but for Anne. She was such a headstrong, self-assured woman but there was also this bruised, tender side to her; she was proudly her own eccentric self, but that had got her hurt a lot.

”And the young, pretty things?”

”Mmm. You’ve had a  _ very _ thorough scroll through Instagram, haven’t you?”

Ann smiled and slid her fingers through Anne’s hair again. ”I also did an exhaustive google search.”

”Well, now I do have enough money that most people don’t care I’m strange. The downside is, I meet a lot of people who are interested in me only because of the money.”

”I know exactly how that feels,” Ann murmured. 

Anne’s hand on her arm paused. ”That’s true, you probably do. And so you know how meaningless these people are. Momentary amusements.”

”Well, I can hardly blame you for indulging yourself. Fabulous tits are hard to resist.”

Anne laughed, her eyes dancing with mischief. ”A universal truth.”

Glad that her melancholy seemed to have abated for now, Ann took Anne’s hand from her shoulder and kissed her fingers. Her eyes were drawn to the tattoos on Anne’s forearms. She had thought them to be just abstract artwork but looking closer, she realised there was a pattern to them, made of letters, numbers, and symbols.

“Oh! Your tattoos are actually writing. Of sorts. What do they say?”

Anne sat up next to Ann on the sofa. “It’s a code that’s been in the family for a couple of centuries, for writing secrets. I used to write in my journal in the code when I was younger.”

Ann turned her forearm, studying them. 

“What do they say then?”

Anne traced two lines on her right forearm.  _ “I love and only love the fairer sex and thus beloved by them in turn, my heart revolts from any love but theirs.” _ She grinned at Ann. “I was a moody, theatrical teenager.”

Ann laughed and touched Anne’s left arm. “And here?”

_ “What a comfort is this journal. I tell myself to myself and throw the burden on my book and feel relieved.” _

“Do you still keep a journal?” Ann asked and traced the tattoo with her fingers.

“I do.”

“Am I in it?”

Anne smiled wickedly. “Of course you are.”

“Well, tell me! What have you written about me?”

“Only pertinent information,” Anne said. She cupped Ann’s face, her thumb brushing Ann’s cheek. “Like how very pretty you are.” 

“Mmm, flattery will get you everywhere. Is there any additional information I can provide now?” Ann asked, her voice gone husky. She kissed the inside of Anne’s wrist, intoxicated by her scent and their closeness.

“A lot,” Anne hummed and kissed her, softly at first and then with more intent. She pressed Ann down onto the sofa, gently but insistently. Anne’s weight on her felt delicious; arousal coiled through Ann, hot and electric. 

“Such as?” she sighed against Anne’s lips.

”Well. I know things you like and things you don’t,” Anne said and kissed her neck, then bit her earlobe gently. Ann shivered. ”Like so. But what are your limits? Where do you say no?”

Ann’s breathing hitched. “Ah,” she groaned. Anne’s hands were mapping her sides and the feel of those nimble fingers on her ribs made thinking difficult. “Mmm. I draw the line at, maybe, whips and knives. That sort of thing.”

“I don’t want to risk scaring you away,” Anne said against her neck. Her voice had gone low and rough.

Ann slid her hands into Anne’s hair and pulled her head up to look squarely into her eyes. “Anne. I’ve been in- I’ve had a thing for you for ten years. I don’t think there’s anything that you could say or do that would scare me away. Especially now.” Ann smirked. “So do your worst, Ms Lister.”

Heat bloomed in Anne’s dark eyes. “Well then. Let’s see if we can find a limit or two.”

* * *

The air in the bedroom felt acutely cold on Ann’s skin, especially since she was blindfolded and had to rely fully on her other senses. Anne’s sheets were cool and smooth under her and she could hear the distant rumble of traffic from outside. Her heartbeat was settling but inside her, pent-up desire sang along her nerves; she was not tied up but Anne had told her to lie still on her stomach, so that’s what she did.

The bed dipped and Anne’s hands brushed along her back and legs. “How do you feel?”

“Frustrated. That was cruel of you,” Ann said, her voice hoarse. Anne had almost made her come, twice, but had always pulled back at the last minute. “I will lodge a complaint with the management.”

Anne’s laugh was warm and fiendish. “I’ll have to up the level of service.” She smacked Ann on her bottom, firmly but not too hard. Ann jolted and a gasp escaped her. “On your hands and knees, then. Please.”

Ann did as told, shivering in anticipation. This could have been frightening for her, being deprived of one of her senses, but she felt perfectly safe. On all fours, she felt the cool air on her aching centre, exposed for Anne to see. Anne’s fingers slid gently through her folds.

“Oh Ann, you’re so wet. You’re...just lovely.”

“Your fault,” Ann breathed. The blindfold was strange in that it made her concentrate on Anne’s touch alone, how it made her feel hot and cold all over. “You, ah, did this to me.”

“Mmm. Let’s see if there’s more I can do for you.”

Ann felt the bed shift and dip as Anne moved behind her, her hand stroking her back and then gripping her hips firmly. And then Ann felt something enter her. Something slick and quite large. 

“Oh fuck,” Ann moaned, so loud she could hear it echo in the bedroom. “Oh god Anne, oh…”

The  _ thing  _ slid into her smoothly, cool and unyielding, until she felt fuller than she had ever been. Breathing in shallow gasps, Ann willed herself to relax and the initial shock went away, leaving behind a profound sense of pleasure. She felt Anne’s hips press into hers, hands holding her still.  _ She’s wearing a fucking strap-on, _ Ann realized hazily and the thought made her shiver with desperate lust.

“How are you, Ann? Talk to me.”

Ann fisted her hands into the bedding and inhaled shakily. “That’s… a lot. But, oh god, just right.”

“Oh good,” Anne whispered, her voice rough with tension. “Good.”

Anne pulled back and Ann moaned. Not being able to see made her acutely aware of the friction as the  _ thing _ slid out of her and then back in. Anne’s hands held her firmly in place; she could not escape it, it all happened at the pace Anne wanted to set.

”Ah, oh god,” Ann moaned and ground her teeth together. She could feel perspiration bead on her forehead as Anne filled her again and again. It was just  _ so much.  _ ”Oh Anne, oh, I don’t think I’ve… ever been this full. It’s so, oh god, so  _ big _ .”

”If only you could see yourself, Ann,” Anne hissed, thickly. ”How fucking delectable you look with my cock in you.”

Ann panted, sinking her head into the bedding as her arms gave out. ”Oh, Anne, it’s so good. Mmm, harder…”

She heard Anne growl and then thrust into her so hard she saw stars. Ann screamed and this seemed to spur Anne on, because she set a new, brutal pace. Ann pushed back, hands slick on the sheets, her body on fire and shivering in the onslaught.

”Touch yourself.” Anne’s breathing was sharp and shallow as she pounded into Ann.

Ann’s fingers found her clit, swollen and aching. She could feel the slick shaft on her fingertips as she rubbed herself. It did not take much to send Ann over the edge, her muscles clenching around the punishing pressure in her and hot sharp sparks shooting through her whole body. She sobbed into the bedding at the relief of finally getting to her release.

Ann slumped down on the bed, whimpering as she felt Anne withdraw from within her. Still blindfolded, she focused on steadying her breathing. She heard the faint tinkle of buckles being undone and then Anne touched the blindfold. 

”Do you want me to take this off now?”

”No, leave it on for a moment,” Ann breathed and turned to her side. ”Just hold me, please.”

Anne embraced her from behind and Ann melted into her. ”You did well, Ann,” Anne murmured. “So well. You are wonderful.”

Pleased, Ann ran a shaking hand along Anne’s side, from ribs to thigh, all warm and smooth skin. She felt Anne smile into her neck and then kiss her there for a long while before taking the blindfold off.

”Damn that’s bright,” Ann muttered, squinting. She felt sated and drowsy as she turned in Anne’s arms. ”You look well pleased with yourself.”

Anne lifted an eyebrow. ”Should I not be?”

”You should,” Ann said and kissed her, soft and languid. ”Are you going to document this in your journal?”

”In detail.”

”Good. Especially if that means you’ll do it to me again sometime.”

Anne grinned. ”But of course.”


	8. The Uncommon Bravery

Ann peeked into the bedroom. Anne was still fast asleep and she did not have the heart to wake her up. It was 6 am and Ann considered that to be an ungodly hour to be awake on a Monday, but she had no choice - she had to go home, change, pick up her stuff and rush to the University for a 9 am lecture. The temptation to get back into bed with Anne was strong. 

On impulse, Ann dug out her sketchbook and a pencil again, and sat in the dim bedroom for a few minutes. Her sketch of Anne asleep in all her near-naked, sleek glory was quick and sure-handed. Ann added a cheeky heart to the corner of the drawing and stuck the paper under Anne’s watch on the nightstand.

With one final look, Ann left the bedroom. She tiptoed through the living room to the foyer and let herself out. 

Downstairs, the night concierge of the building nodded at her from behind his desk.  _ ”Dois-je vous appeler un taxi, mademoiselle?” _

_ ”Non, merci,”  _ Ann replied with a smile as she exited. She would walk and take the Metro; she needed the fresh air. 

It was a chilly morning and Ann shivered in her leather jacket. She shouldered her bag, shoved her hands in her pockets, and set off. 

The Metro was only a few blocks away but Ann felt thoroughly chilled by the time she sat down in the train. She closed her eyes and leaned back in her seat. It had been a magical Sunday, indolent and full of pleasure. She shivered in delight at the memory of the blindfold - something she had not known she liked, but now could not wait to try out again. 

_ Oh Ann, you are so in trouble. Bloody hell.  _ She sighed. She was now so thoroughly infatuated with Anne that there was no going back: they would either work out or she would be in a world of heartache. She had not felt like this about someone else in years. If ever. 

Which meant that she really needed to be brave again, like Anne was, and proudly be her own self with the people she cared about. 

Ann took out her phone.

_ \---06:18 [Ann Walker] Hey E _

_ _\---_06:18 [Ann Walker] You free for dinner this week? _

_ _\---_06:25 [Liz] Good morning to you too baby sis _

_ _\---_06:25 [Liz] How are you awake at this hour??? Are you all right _

_ _\---_06:26 [Ann Walker] I’m ok _

_ _\---_06:27 [Ann Walker] Just need to talk about something with you _

_ _\---_06:29 [Liz] Sure thing, be mysterious then :) How about tonight? _

_ _\---_06:30 [Ann Walker] Perfect _

_ _\---_06:30 [Ann Walker] My place? I’ll do something simple _

_ _\---_06:30 [Ann Walker] Anytime after 6 _

_ _\---_06:33 [Liz] c u then _

With a sigh, Ann put her phone away. Regardless of what eventually happened with her and Anne, she would need her sister’s support and love. And so, she needed to come out to her.

* * *

”You look exhausted!” Jack exclaimed with glee when they met for lunch at the University cafeteria. ”It was that good a weekend?”

Ann sat down with an annoyed glare, but she could not stay annoyed long. ”Thanks, Jack-o. I knew I could trust you to tell me the unvarnished truth.”

He sat down with his lunch tray, grinning. ”Soooo, spill it. Did you get to the sex dungeon? Details, honeybuns!”

”No sex dungeon,” Ann said and forked some salad into her mouth. ”She cooked me brunch and we talked about art and exes, the usual Sunday stuff. Then she got me naked and did some bloody amazing things to me on the dining table. And then in the shower.”

Jack inhaled some of his Coke down the wrong pipe and spent a few moments coughing it up.

”You. Are evil,” he wheezed weakly when he recovered.

”You did ask for details. I didn’t even get to the blindfold and strap-on part.”

Jack covered his face with his hands. ”Aaaand now I regret it. All of it.”

“Teaches you right, you nosy clod,” Anne said and winked. Jack punched her on the arm, laughing.

Ann’s phone rang.  _ It’s her, _ she mouthed at Jack, who wiggled his eyebrows. A frisson of excitement ran through Ann as she answered.

“Hello,” she said and could not help but smile.

“Thank you for the drawing. It’s now in my journal, between the pages where I talk about yesterday in great detail. As promised.” 

Ann stared at the far wall of the cafeteria, steadfastly refusing to meet Jack’s eyes. “I didn’t want you to think I’d left you in the middle of the night without so much as a thank you.”

“Thanks for letting me sleep in. I have the Germans still here with me, all day today and tomorrow. If they still linger on Wednesday, I’m calling the gendarmes on them.”

“So you’re free Wednesday night?”

"Yes. Thursday night I have lessons but, hey - what are you doing next weekend?”

“I have just cleared my calendar.”

Anne laughed, and the sound made Ann feel warm all over. “I have a tournament,  _ Coupe de Bretagne, _ in Rennes. Do you want to come with me? Friday through Sunday. I’ll be busy a couple of hours on Saturday and Sunday but we could-”

“I’d love to come,” Ann said, interrupting. 

“Mmm. I think we’ve established you love to come, yes. Repeatedly.” 

Ann’s cheeks were suddenly aflame and she could feel Jack staring at her, holding in his laughter. “You are incorrigible. And I also suspect insatiable,” she muttered, eyes closed. 

“Quite possibly so.” There was dark amusement in Anne’s voice. “I’ll have Thomas get a train ticket to Rennes for you, too. And we’ll do dinner Wednesday night.”

“Wednesday. Can’t wait.”

“Me neither, Ann.”

When Ann put her phone away, she willed her blush to settle down but in vain. She met Jack’s gaze.

“All right. Out with it.”

“You are so head over heels for her, aren’t you?” Jack said with seriousness that surprised Ann.

Ann sighed. “I am. I’m officially invested in this thing. I just hope she is.”

“Have you asked her?”

“I’m not that brave, Jack-o,” she said. “But I’m working on it.”

* * *

It was a clammy, rainy evening so Ann decided on pasta puttanesca and a robust rosé. She had just got the raw ingredients prepped when her doorbell rang.

“You’re right on time,” she said and gestured Elizabeth in. “You get to have input on the forever question of anchovies or no anchovies.”

Elizabeth hugged her and smiled. “Anchovies, of course!”

Ann smiled and took her by the arm to the kitchen. “Extra anchovies, just for you. These are the sacrifices I make for family.”

Ann busied herself with the sauce while her sister poured them wine and set out utensils and napkins at the kitchen island. With the sauce simmering away Ann put the pasta water to boil. Steam and the smell of garlic hung heavy in the kitchen air and Ann took a large swig of wine. She felt nervous and then foolish for feeling nervous - this was Elizabeth!

“So how are things with you?” Ann asked.

Elizabeth pushed herself up to sit on the island. Ann tried very hard not to blush; it was the exact spot where Anne had so expertly fingered her to her first orgasm the previous week. She turned away to measure fresh pasta into the boiling water.

“Oh, the same. Donald is so busy now with France taking on the EU council presidency this autumn. Plus Brexit. So many things to arrange at the embassy.”

“Glad you could get away this evening,” Ann said with a smile. “I should come over sometime to see the kids. I’ve not seen them for weeks.”

“And Evan has grown so much! He smiles a lot now.”

“I miss seeing them. Does Alice still like puzzles?”

“She does, and now she doesn’t try to eat them so much.” Elizabeth sipped her wine and gazed at her fondly. “What was it that you wanted to talk to me about, Ann?”

Ann opened her mouth, her heart in her throat. She tried to think of Anne and how courageous she always was, to see if that helped. But before Ann could get one word out, the doorbell rang again. She frowned. Who could it be?

“Oh, um, Liz. Can you get that? I’m going to plate the pasta just now.”

Ann drained the pasta and swirled it into the sauce before plating it. She had just set the food down for them when Elizabeth came back, a strange look on her face and an enormous bouquet of calla lilies in a glass vase in her arms. She set the vase down on the island and sat down.

“Well, Ann. I’m guessing this is what you wanted to talk about?”

“Yeah, you could say that,” Ann exhaled, giddy and trepidous. She took the card from the flowers.

_ I can’t stop smiling. - AL _

A rush of dark warmth suffused Ann. She sat down and wordlessly handed the card to her sister.

“At least he seems like a gentleman,” Elizabeth said and smiled, handing the card back. She twirled her fork into the pasta. “Very romantic. Do you want to tell me more?”

Ann turned the card in her hands, nervous. She stared at her food but did not feel hungry at all; her heart hammered in her chest and that made her feel nauseated. It was now or never. 

“The thing is, Liz. Not a gentleman.”

Elizabeth frowned. “What do you mean?”

“A woman. It’s a she. Strangely enough, her name is Anne. With an e.”

Elizabeth set her fork down and looked at Ann, surprised. “Really?”

Ann let out a breath she had been holding and smiled. Her hands were shaking from adrenaline. “Really. I’m a big ol’ homo, Liz.”

At that, her sister laughed and leaned back, taking a big gulp of her wine. She gazed at Ann and there was confusion but also love in the look. “All right. Well. I had suspected something years back, when you seemed completely uninterested in dating any of the guys hanging around you in Uni. But then I… I guess I forgot. Figured you were not the dating type.”

Ann took her sister’s hand and squeezed it. “You were always the popular one, Liz.”

“Pfft. Well.”

“It’s not new, I did have girlfriends in Uni, too. It was just never… never a good time to tell you. I wanted to, but I was scared.”

“Of the family?” Elizabeth asked and raised a knowing eyebrow. “Or of me.”

“The family. It’s never you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell before.”

“It’s all right. I’m glad you told me now. I love you,” Elizabeth said and squeezed Ann’s hand in turn. “So tell me more about this Anne-with-an-e. If you’d like?”

“Oh, that’s the other thing,” Ann sighed. She carded her hands through her hair and closed her eyes. Why did this have to be so difficult? “This is the part where you’re going to get seriously weirded out, Liz.”

Elizabeth frowned. “How come?”

“Because AL stands for Anne Lister.”

Ann heard her sister set down her wine glass too hard and opened her eyes. She couldn’t help it - she burst out laughing at the sight of her sister’s expression. 

“Oh Liz, if only you could see your face! I don’t think I’ve seen that look since I was sixteen and came home with my hair dyed green.”

“Is this,” Elizabeth said and blinked. “Is this why you asked me about her last week? How did you… is she in Paris? And why? And how?”

“The short answers are sort of, yes, and on business. And, um, it just happened.”

“Well how did you two meet here?”

Ann stalled by forking some pasta in her mouth, trying to decide which version of the truth she was going to tell. “Well,” she started, wiping her mouth on her napkin. “It was pure coincidence. We happened to be at the same place at the same time and… just hit off.”

“When was this?”

Ann bit her lip, grinning. “Less than two weeks ago.”

"And she’s already sending you flowers?” Elizabeth said. She relaxed into a smile. “You move fast.”

“Well, technically we’ve known each other for ten years. But, hm, yes. That’s lesbians for you.”

This was the first time Ann had ever used the L-word with Elizabeth and it had felt strange on her tongue. Getting used to this new reality with her sister would take time.

Elizabeth blew out a breath. “Anne Lister. Well I never.” She looked at Ann sharply. ”She’s much older than you, isn’t she?”

”About ten years. I’m almost thirty, Liz. A perfectly capable adult,” Ann said and pointed her finger at her sister. ”So no, she did not seduce me like some naive ingénue, if that’s what you’re implying. Quite the opposite in fact - I chased her.”

Elizabeth blinked and twirled her fork in her pasta. ”Really?”

”Really. And Donald is how much older than you?”

”Eight years. Point taken,” Elizabeth said with a smile. ”Who else knows? About you and, hm, her?”

“Just Jack, here in Paris.”

“And is it serious? Is this serious for you? It sounds like it is.”

_ Oh, that’s the question, sis. _ “Yes,” Ann replied, through reality was far more complex. 

“Eventually you’re going to have to tell more people. The family. If this is… if she will be a part of your life.”

“Yes, but that’s not right now. One of the good things about living in Paris is its actual distance to England. But I wanted to tell you at least.”

Elizabeth took her hand again. “Well, I’m here for you, little sister. And I’m looking forward to properly meeting Anne-with-an-e, I haven’t seen her in years. She’s very entertaining, that much I remember.”

“She is certainly entertaining.” Ann squeezed Elizabeth’s hand back. “Thanks, sis. Thanks for listening.” 

“My pleasure. Now eat your pasta before it gets cold.”

Suddenly, Ann was ravenous. She attacked her pasta with relish, feeling lightheaded and relieved. She had finally done it.


	9. Prise de Fer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand smut. Again.

The Friday evening TGV to Rennes had departed Gare Montparnasse on time and they were speeding through the countryside towards the setting sun. Ann had her sketchpad out and stared dreamily at the long shadows of the landscape flashing by. The land was slowly waking up to spring - fields still winter black but trees sporting the first optimistic hint of green.

They had a four-seater to themselves in the upstairs first class cabin; Anne sat opposite her with her enormous fencing gear bag taking another seat. She was writing in a large bound notebook, her brow furrowed in concentration.

“That’s a lovely fountain pen. A gift?”

“Yes,” Anne said and wrote the rest of her sentence before she looked up. “Yes. A gift from my father. One of the few useful things he has given me.”

“He still lives in Halifax?”

“Yes, with my aunt and sister. I miss Aunt Anne and Argus. The rest of them, not so much,” Anne said with a lopsided grin. 

“Who’s Argus?”

“Their dog. A giant grey lump of fur.”

“Oh, which reminds me, my sister wants to meet you.”

Anne capped her pen and put her journal down. “Why?”

Ann leaned her forearms on the table between their seats. She regarded Anne steadily. “I told her about you. Us. And she remembers that you are, and I quote, entertaining.”

“Well, you’ll be the judge of that.”

Grinning, Anne took off her olive bomber jacket and tossed it on top of her gear bag. She sprawled back in her seat and Ann took her in, from the boots and black skinny jeans to her white t-shirt and the loose dark hair contrasting against it. She was sublime.

“I find you very entertaining, yes.”

Anne gave her an impish wink and drummed her fingers on the cover of her journal. “There is an  _ us.” _ It was a statement, not a question.

Ann’s heart started beating faster. “I do hope so.”

“Mmm,” Anne muttered and traced the tattoo lines on her right forearm with her fingers. “You know, I read just this first part to you. The next lines are,  _ It is as extravagant to borrow time as to borrow money; every delay involves us more deeply, till the accumulation of interest is in either case ruinous.” _

Ann turned the sentences in her head. “So basically, don’t waste time.”

“Or an opportunity because it will slip away from you.” Anne paused, her jaw working as she thought. ”There’s a reason why I have these journal entries as tattoos.”

”Really? Tell me,” Ann said, intrigued.

”One day, when I was in sixth form, I was visiting Aunt Anne. While I was gone, my parents found my diaries and they can of course read the family code. And they, hm, they got rid of them.”

Shocked, Ann put her hand to her mouth. “They didn’t!”

“They did. Because they didn’t like or understand what they were reading, so they thought the best thing to do was to destroy them.” Anne took a deep breath and looked out the window, a wan smile on her lips. “And I got so angry that through sheer force of will I excelled in my A-levels and got into Cambridge. I moved out the day I got the letter.”

“I’m so sorry, Anne. That’s terrible!”

Anne stroked her bottom lip with her thumb, seemingly deep in thought. The waning light cast her face in deep shadows and brought out copper highlights in her inky hair. Ann felt a sudden itch to paint her in this rare, introspective repose.

”My father and I are... better now. It was then that I got into journaling with tattoos because they’re indestructible and always with me.” Anne shifted in her seat and looked at Ann again. “Now I also recognise that in a way, what my parents did led me to Cambridge. And I wouldn’t be here and I wouldn’t be who I am today had I not taken action, seized that opportunity.”

Ann laid her hands flat on the table, her heart fluttering in her chest. She was fascinated by these rare glimpses into Anne’s past, at the things that had made her. “I am.. I’m glad you can see the positive in something so hurtful.”

“Hm, yes,” Anne said. She sat up and took Ann’s hand, pressing it between both of hers. Her gaze was unblinking, intense. “And so I don’t want to waste this opportunity, either. With us. I want to be with you, Ann. To see where this takes us.”

Ann’s breath caught. Time stood still and bright, just for a moment. 

“Anne...”

“And I think you might be a little bit in love with me.” Anne’s voice was low and her eyes held effervescent humor.

“Oh. Hm. I think I might be. Just a little bit,” Ann murmured. She felt tears prickling at her eyes and she blinked them away. “I promise I won’t hurt you.” 

“You can’t make that promise, Ann. You shouldn’t.”

Ann touched Anne’s cheek, gently. “It’s my promise to make.”

* * *

Ann sat on the terrace of their suite at the Balthazar Hotel in Rennes, her eyes on the twilight and the dark velvet shapes of the open land around her. She had a wool blanket around her shoulders and a mug of mulled wine in hand; she had just come out of a hot bubble bath. She felt utterly relaxed.

She heard their suite door and then, moments later, felt Anne’s hands on her shoulders. She looked up and smiled.

“Weapons check done?”

“Done. My poule starts at ten tomorrow,” Anne murmured. “Won’t you come inside?”

“Did you have something in mind?”

Anne’s hands slid down from her shoulders into her blanket and the bathrobe underneath, cupping her bare breasts. Ann hummed in delight and then Anne kissed her. “I did have something in mind, yes,” Anne whispered against her lips.

”By coincidence I also had an idea. A request, in fact.”

Anne straightened and offered Ann her hand. “Colour me intrigued. C’mon.”

Ann shed her blanket and took Anne’s hand. Once inside, she let Anne push her against the wall, her desire stroked to flame by the feel of Anne pressing into her from hip to shoulder. She grasped Anne by the neck, feeling the prickle of her undercut on her palm. Their kiss was impatient; Ann moaned into it when her tongue touched Anne’s.

“The bed. Now,” Ann breathed, pushing against Anne. 

“Mmm. Impatient today?”

Anne sat on the edge of the bed and Ann, still standing, took her hands. When Ann licked her lips, they felt swollen and hot from kissing; delicious arousal and faint nervousness coiled in her groin.

“I have a request,” Ann said and inhaled unsteadily. “You can say no and I won’t ask again.”

Anne tilted her head, a faint frown line appearing between her eyebrows. “Now I’m worried it’s going to be something seriously freaky.”

Ann smiled and brushed her knuckles along Anne’s cheek. “Can I… tonight, can I see all of you? And touch you, too?”

Anne exhaled a laugh and looked away. “And here I thought you were going to suggest suspension bondage or something.”

Ann came closer and tilted Anne’s head up with a finger under her chin. “I’m serious. I don’t want to do anything that would make you uncomfortable. I just want to… tonight, I want to give  _ you _ pleasure. Please. It would make me very happy."

Ann could see the conflict in Anne’s eyes. She didn’t want to hurry her but instead, waited patiently. This was Anne, trying to trust her enough to be comfortable with being vulnerable, despite having had that trust broken so many times by so many people in the past.

“I’m a little bit in love with you, remember?” Ann murmured and kneeled in front of Anne. She kissed her cheek. 

“I do remember,” Anne said, her voice husky. She took Ann’s face in her hands and kissed her, long and sweet. “Mmm. Well. Only if you get naked first.”

Ann smiled into the kiss. She undid the belt of her bathrobe and shrugged it off her shoulders. 

“Done.”

Anne pulled back and grinned. “That’s cheating.”

”No, it’s called planning.” 

Ann stood and pulled Anne up as well. She tugged off Anne’s t-shirt and sports bra and undid her jeans. Anne kicked off her jeans and socks and straightened, now in her underwear only. With trembling hands, Ann hooked her thumbs into Anne’s boy shorts. 

“Is this all right?”

“More than all right,” Anne murmured. Her hands on Ann’s shoulders were still and relaxed, her thumbs making slow circles on Ann’s skin. “I wouldn’t let you, if it weren’t all right.”

Ann kneeled slowly, taking Anne’s shorts down with her. Anne stepped out of them and Ann took the opportunity to grasp her hips and run her tongue along Anne’s thigh. It felt wonderful to touch her like this. But Anne wound her hand into Ann’s hair and pulled her up, her grasp firm and sure.

“On the bed, Ann. I want to taste you, right now.”

Shivering, Ann climbed into bed, her limbs heavy with arousal. She laid back and Anne came on top of her. Her delicious weight and the feel of skin on skin felt heavenly and Ann moaned with the pleasure of it. Anne’s lips and teeth were trailing fire along her neck and shoulder; she wrapped her arms around Anne, holding her as close as she could. 

Anne’s mouth trailed to her breast and her teeth teased Ann’s nipple; the other nipple was pinched in Anne’s fingers. Ann twisted on the bed, sparks of pleasure shooting straight to her groin. Panting, she opened her eyes and watched as Anne settled down between her legs. Anne looked up, dark eyes sparkling with intent. Her eyebrow twitched roguishly and then her mouth was on Ann.

“Oh god,” Ann exhaled and grabbed the sheets with both hands. 

The feel of Anne’s tongue on her, somehow rough and silky smooth at the same time, was simply divine. Anne traced her folds and dipped down to her wetness, teasing, never staying in one place. Ann groaned in frustration; her legs trembled and she opened them wider, trying to urge Anne along. Anne hummed in delight and licked her way to Ann’s clit - and then sucked on it.

“Oh fuck,  _ oh,  _ Anne!” Ann moaned, her body arching off the bed. Pleasure blossomed sharply in her, coiling for a few hot moments and then she came with fury, suddenly and violently. 

Her breath shallow and uneven, Ann shivered on the bed, the aftershocks of her sudden orgasm tingling all over her body. She pulled feebly at Anne’s hair. Anne obliged, kissing her way up Ann’s body slowly. Ann wrapped her arms around her and closed her eyes.

“Mmm. Wow. You are a bloody magician,” she managed after a while, her voice hoarse.

“And you're my favourite trick."

Ann laughed unsteadily and poked at Anne’s arm. “Okay, my turn. Sit up on your heels.”

With a tolerant smile, Anne did as was told. Ann sat up as well and straddled Anne’s thigh. She slid wetly against it and Anne’s eyes narrowed as she looked at Ann. 

“Yes, you did this to me, Anne,” Ann whispered and ground her clit against the delicious hardness of Anne’s thigh. She exhaled a moan. “Can I, oh, touch you now?”

Anne grasped Ann’s hips and set a slow, steady pace for her frottage. “Yes,” she breathed. “Please.”

Ann’s eyes fluttered closed at the heat in Anne’s voice. She traced a slow path down from Anne’s shoulder with her hand, feeling the weight of her breast and the deliciousness of Anne’s nipple hardening at her touch. She let her hand slide further down until she found the silky skin of Anne’s sex.

“Oh. Oh god.  _ Anne.” _

Ann’s breath caught in her throat; she had finally been allowed to touch Anne in this most intimate of ways. With two fingers she felt along Anne’s wetness, learning the feel and the heat of it, slow and deliberate, exploring her for long moments. Ann’s hand trembled and she felt herself growing slicker against Anne’s thigh, her desire stoked. With her other hand, Ann pulled herself closer to Anne, feeling the shivers coursing through Anne’s body.

”You feel... oh. You are so perfect,” Ann whispered. 

Anne rested her forehead on Ann’s shoulder and her grip on Ann's hips tightened, still moving her at the same deliberate pace. “Please don’t tease me too much,” Anne hissed, her breath coming in gasps. “I am… so close.”

Ann let her fingers slide along Anne’s folds and she found her clit, a slick nub in the silky softness of her labia. Ann pressed harder against it, moving her own hips to the tempo of her fingers circling around Anne’s desire. Anne’s breath grew ragged and her hands shifted restlessly on Ann’s hips. Ann kept her firm, constant pace until she felt Anne shudder against her. 

Anne threw back her head and let out a prolonged groan, her expression awash with pleasure. Ann watched her, unblinking, wanting to commit the sight of Anne coming undone to her memory forever. 

When Anne exhaled shakily and again rested her head on Ann’s shoulder, Ann kissed her ear. “I love you,” Ann whispered hoarsely, overcome with emotion. 

Anne’s grip on her hips tightened again and pressed her into the hard thigh, her lips on Ann’s neck. Ann canted her hips and ground herself against the slick leg, panting, until release blossomed in her anew. As she came, Ann felt tears prickle in her eyes and her moan was nearly a sob.

It took Ann a while to catch her breath. She felt her tears wet her cheeks and she was shuddering as Anne laid her down on the bed. Slowly she calmed down, helped by Anne’s hands stroking her back and hair.

”Better?”

”Better,” Ann said and opened her eyes. She looked at Anne and brushed her cheek with her fingertips. ”Thank you.”

Anne frowned. ”For what?”

”For trusting me. And also for not freaking out when I turned into a teary mess just now. It was just… overwhelming for a moment there.”

Anne smiled and kissed her. ”Well, you’re very pretty even when you’re a teary mess.”

”Hm. I find that unlikely,” Ann muttered and closed her eyes again.


	10. In Word and Deed

Ann’s hands felt sweaty against the cardboard cup in her hands. The fencing arena at CSG Rennes was teeming with feverish activity, the din of swords clashing and machines beeping drowned only by the occasional triumphant yell of a fencer winning a highly contested point. Ann was watching Anne’s bout on the piste in front of her, not understanding at all what was happening but still riveted by the athleticism and sheer physical prowess on display. 

A young woman sat on the seat next to Ann and glanced at her. “Good morning. Are you here with Anne?” 

Ann tore her eyes away from Anne and turned to the woman. She had a fabulous afro and was dressed in that casually elegant way the French always seemed to manage so well. Her English had a strong accent but it was fluent. Ann smiled.

“Yes, I’m here with Anne. How so?”

The woman grinned. ”You look very English.”

Ann laughed. ”I’ll take that as a compliment. How about you?”

“That’s my sister Celeste, on piste 8,” she said and pointed. “Goujon. She fences with Anne at Coudurier in Paris.”

Ann squinted and found piste 8; the fencer on the left had the text “GOUJON FRA” at the back of her jacket - or ‘lame’, as Anne had taught her.

“I’m Ann. Nice to meet you,” Ann said and offered her hand. At the woman’s surprise, she added, “Ann without an e.”

The young woman grinned and took her hand. “You English and your names. I’m Eugenie.”

“Nice to meet you. Do you do these often? The competitions.”

“Sometimes,” Eugenie sighed. “I live here in Rennes, so this was simple. It gives me a chance to spend some time with Celeste. But it’s just so very hard to follow.”

Ann nodded, understanding completely. She watched as Anne walked backwards on the piste to the start line and twirled her sabre in figure eights. She adjusted her mask and stomped with her front foot, and then stilled to the ready position. At the referee’s call, she stormed towards her opponent. A lightning-quick flurry of parries and a cunning attack later the green light came on. All in all, it took less than five seconds. 

“She is very good. Anne, I mean.”

Ann sipped her coffee, feeling a smile spread across her face. “She’s very good at most everything she does. It’s very annoying.”

Eugenie laughed; it was a light, airy giggle. “My sister tells me that when it comes to fencing, she has no greater annoyance than Anne Lister. Whenever she thinks she’s learned a new thing, Anne shows her something she has not yet even realised she doesn’t know.”

“That sounds exactly like her,” Ann murmured. She shifted in the plastic bucket chair and put her feet up on Anne’s gear bag. “How’s your sister doing today?”

Eugenie waggled her hand. “So-so.” She glanced at Ann again. “Are you related to her? You don’t look at all alike.”

“No, I’m…” Ann said and hesitated. “I’m her, um, friend.”

She re-focused back on the arena floor, just in time to see Anne win her bout. Anne yanked off her mask and saluted. She then shook hands with her opponent and smacked her playfully on the stomach. Her opponent laughed and punched Anne on the shoulder. Unplugging herself, Anne strode towards them. 

“Easy peasy?” Ann said and hid her smile in her coffee.

Anne rubbed her face and hair with a towel and then glared at Ann. “Hardly. Louise is always a bloody nuisance. _ Bonjour, _ Eugenie. _ Ça va _?”

_ “Oui, ça va,” _ Eugenie said cheerily. “Going well for you I suppose?”

“Mmm, yes. I have that damn Olivia Margaux in the quarterfinals,” Anne said and leaned over to check the scoreboard. “In ten minutes. I fear she’s going to be a tough nut.”

Anne unzipped her lame and her jacket and took off everything down to her tank top with brisk, efficient moves. She wiped her neck and arms with the towel; Ann leaned back and enjoyed the show with a smirk. Anne paused when she noticed Ann watching and then smacked her with the end of her towel.

“Ow,” Ann protested, not at all repentant. 

“Enjoying yourself?”

“Well, the scoring part is still incomprehensible to me because you move faster than I can follow. But I am enjoying seeing you in your element.”

“Hm. good answer,” Anne said. She slipped the braces of her white breeches down and then pulled off her tank top.

“Well _ now _ I’m certainly enjoying myself,” Ann muttered into her coffee. 

Anne gave her an impish, hot look and tossed the towel at her. Ann slung it over her shoulder as Anne dug out a fresh tank top from her gear bag and pulled it on. As she was tucking it into her breeches, Ann set her coffee down and stood up. She slung the towel around Anne’s neck and held onto the ends.

“Good luck. Not that you need it,” Ann said and tugged Anne closer with the towel. “Because you are bloody amazing.”

Anne paused and smiled, her hands going to Ann’s waist. “Wish me luck regardless,” she said, her voice warm. She kissed Ann; her lips were hot and salty.

“Good luck, _ mon chou.” _

Anne laughed. “I can’t lose now.”

Anne stepped back and pulled her braces back up, then re-dressed in all of her gear. She grabbed her mask and spare weapons and winked at Ann before turning away. Ann watched as Anne marched briskly to the back of the hall, her gait full of pent-up energy. 

“So with friend, you meant girlfriend?”

Ann glanced at Eugenie, who was grinning. “Yes. Well, I guess I prefer partner. But yes.”

Ann felt suddenly giddy and light. It was the first time she had used this word for them. It made it real: they were doing this now. 

* * *

_ \---16:34 [Anne Lister] rue Jean Antoine exit, 5 minutes _

Ann put her phone back in her bag and stood up. “She’s picking me up at Jean Antoine.”

“Ooh, I’ll walk you over!” Jack said, jumping up from his chair. “Let’s go.”

They exited the University cafeteria, Jack pulling her by the arm. Ann laughed. “I didn’t think you’d want to meet Caligula.”

“Pfft. You’ve talked about nothing but her for the past month - of course I want to meet her!” Jack let go of her arm and they walked together towards the exit. “So I’m guessing she’s not as scary as her reputation has it?”

“Oh, she is scary when it comes to money,” Ann said and pursed her lips. “Tonight will be interesting because it’ll be all about money and it’s my first time at one of these things as her, um, significant other.”

“It’s her company’s fancy party, right? What’re you going to wear? I’d say go for black and sexy, can’t go wrong with the classics.”

“I know without asking that Anne is going to wear black, so we’d look like a proper funeral party together,” Ann said and pushed the door open.

True to her word, Anne was already waiting. She was leaning against her black Tesla, typing furiously on her phone. She was wearing a slim black tuxedo suit and a black dress shirt with enough buttons undone for it to be suggestive but not quite indecent. On her feet were a new pair of deadly stilettos, these ones oxblood red. Her hair was loose, a dark halo around her head in the blustery April wind.

Ann heard Jack make a surprised sound. “Well now, isn’t she just fabulous.”

“You have no idea,” Ann breathed. She briefly wondered how long it would take for this excitement to wear off. Weeks? Or months? She hoped never.

“If I were you, I’d dive right into those pants as soon as the car door closes.”

“Jack!” Ann said, laughing, and poked at his side. 

As Ann and Jack approached, Thomas stepped out of the driver’s seat. Ann heard Jack make a strangled sound and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing; Thomas was, by all measures, a really attractive man.

“Well hello,” Anne said and pushed herself off the car. She took Ann’s arm and pulled her into a kiss that left Ann a bit breathless.

“Hello there,” Ann said as they parted, a bit unsteadily. She pushed a stray lock of Anne’s hair behind her ear. “Aren’t you looking dishy today. I feel so very underdressed again.”

“Mmm. I like that, remember?”

“Yes, well. Er. This is my friend Jack, Jack Smith-Wessington.”

Anne turned to Jack and offered him a broad smile as she shook his hand. “Lovely to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“All good I hope,” Jack said and winked. “Ann hasn’t shut up about you for the past month.”

Anne laughed and waggled an eyebrow at Ann. “Oh really? Now I’m tremendously curious.”

Jack opened his mouth but before he could get a word in, Ann put two fingers on his lips. “Not. A word. Jack-o.” She turned to Anne. “Should we get going? I need to change and I haven’t decided what to wear yet.”

“Quite so. Nice meeting you, Jack. We’ll revisit this topic sometime.”

“Likewise, a pleasure. And let’s do that,” he said and grinned. “I have many, many embarrassing stories about Ann, mostly involving vodka and women.”

“All right, you. Get going.” Ann made shooing motions at Jack, studiously ignoring Anne’s mirth.

With a final longing look at Thomas, Jack gave Ann a hug and set off towards the Metro. Ann exhaled and when Thomas opened the door for her, she sat in the car. Relaxing against the seat, Ann closed her eyes; the air inside held the faint scent of leather and Anne’s savage, singular perfume. She felt the seat dip as Anne sat next to her and then the car took off, steady and silent.

Anne’s hand came to rest on her thigh, her middle finger making slow circles on her jeans leg. Ann smiled and opened her eyes. Anne was frowning at her phone, scrolling through emails.

“I could’ve just taken the Metro home, you realise.”

Anne set her phone down in her lap and turned to smile at Ann. “I know, and it probably would have been quicker. But then I wouldn’t have had this time alone with you. Tonight will be busy.”

Ann picked up Anne’s hand from her thigh and touched her lips on the knuckles, then brought the hand to her face. “I’m glad you came.”

”My pleasure.”

Half-turning in the confines of her seat belt, Ann reached out and slid her free hand into Anne’s shirt. She brushed along the sharp ridge of Anne’s collarbone and then up her neck. Under her fingertips, she could feel Anne’s pulse pick up.

“Are we in a hurry? When we get to my place.”

Anne gazed at her with heat in her eyes. “We have time to… linger for a bit. If you change fast.”

“I will. We still haven’t done my foyer, you realise,” Ann murmured and slid her fingers down Anne’s chest. She undid one more button on Anne’s shirt; she could now see the curve of Anne’s breast and that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Exhaling unsteadily, she looked up.

“Ann. Behave.”

Ann heard the strain and want in Anne’s voice and bit her lower lip. A shiver of arousal went through her. She leaned over and nosed into Anne’s hair near her ear.

“I’m looking forward to what sort of a lesson you’ll teach me, then,” she whispered. “If my manners are so poor.”

Anne’s hand slid into her hair and pulled her head away. Anne’s grasp was firm and steady and the strength of it made Ann shiver again. Anne took Ann’s hand from inside her shirt and glanced significantly towards Thomas in the driver’s seat.

“You… are an infernal tease,” Anne said, her voice tense.

Ann leaned back into her seat, arousal simmering in her, dark and unhurried. She was sure Thomas had seen a lot of things happening in the back seat of Anne’s car and for some reason the thought thrilled her. “You wore that shirt and those shoes on purpose to see me. That makes you the tease.”

Anne closed her eyes. ”I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“A likely story.”

”Cheeky minx.”

”Coquette.”

“Hardly. Mmm. But that reminds me.” Anne sat up and opened her eyes. She searched through her pockets, finally extracting a small wooden box. “I got something for you.”

Ann frowned and took the box. “What is it?”

“Open it, silly.”

In the box, on a square of leather, was a bracelet. It was one continuous slim strand of steel, bent to shape with a hook and eye fastening. The metal was glossy and had a cold, blue tint to it. Ann took it out and turning it in her hand, she found that along its inner surface was small writing. Squinting, she saw that it was Anne’s code.

Ann exhaled and turned to Anne. Her heart felt full. “Oh Anne. It’s.. lovely.”

“So I have a friend who makes jewellery out of old fencing equipment. It’s maraging steel, the toughest of steels. Superior in strength and highly resistant to cracking,” Anne said and smiled at Ann. “There’s a few metaphors there, if you look for them.”

“What does the writing say?”

”’Courage’. This is made out of one of my broken sabres and it’s what I had engraved on the blade.” Anne pushed her left jacket sleeve up and undid her cuff. She pulled the shirt sleeve up and traced two tattoo lines of text that ended right at her wrist. "This is from almost twenty years ago. _ She envied my courage. This, I said, like all other qualifications of the mind, might be gained at last by practice." _

“Oh! Oh.” Ann was at a loss for words.

Anne took the bracelet, opened it and twisted it hard until it bent enough for Ann to slip her wrist in. Anne bent the bracelet back to shape and threaded the hook into the eye. The metal warmed quickly where it touched Ann’s skin; it would be difficult to take off but she never wanted to.

“This way you’ll have part of me with you wherever you go,” Anne said quietly. ”And some of my courage, should you ever need it.”

“It’s perfect.” Ann found her voice had gone unsteady; she now understood this was how Anne expressed emotions, not in so many words but instead, with her actions. 

”I’m glad you like it because you’re now stuck with it forever. It’s practically indestructible.”

”I like that metaphor the best.” She cupped Anne’s cheek in her hand. “Thank you, Anne. I love you.”

Anne took her hand and kissed her knuckles, eyes sparkling with delight. “You’re welcome, _ ma fée.” _

Ann put Anne’s hand on her thigh again and sat back in her seat. She closed her eyes, fingers tracing the bracelet’s hard steel. She listened to the muted murmur of Paris and traffic outside the car, feeling content in the fullness of her heart. 

* * *

_Fin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the end of it! Turned out to be a total schmoopy love ride because angst just wouldn't happen in my head this time.
> 
> Thank you for all your lovely, funny, encouraging, questioning comments - I love them all!
> 
> The sequel to this fic is [**A Day Can Give a Hundred Gifts**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21174545).


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